


in this house on the corner

by ofhobbitsandwomen (litvirg)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litvirg/pseuds/ofhobbitsandwomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Hey, It’s Bellamy, leave a message.</em><br/>“Bellamy?” Her voice sounded like a stranger to her. Cracked and rough and broken. “It’s Clarke. I, uh, I just found out about the house.” She broke off, an ugly laugh breaking out between her lips. “From Murphy. I just found out about the house from <em>Murphy</em>.You’re selling the house. Our house. Where we--fuck, just how could you not tell me?"<br/>---<br/>Four years ago, Clarke's college roommate dragged her to her brother's house, pulling her into his life with him and all four of his roommates. Now she finds out he is selling the house and didn't tell her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**May 2016**

It was weird, Clarke decided. Handing in her last final. Slipping the paper into her professor’s mailbox knowing that all that was left for her on the campus was one final walk across a stage and she was ‘sent off into the real world.’ Off to do whatever it was she was supposed to do. 

Right. Whatever that was. 

Four years, thousands of dollars, and innumerable paper cuts later, and she still felt like she was trying to figure out what she was supposed to be doing there. She looked around at the people scattered at the tables in the union, books thrown over tables and booths, and sighed gratefully at her release from the responsibility of academia. 

Now she just had to deal with the responsibility of whatever it was that was supposed to come after academia. 

Before she had too much time for the quiet of the union to sink in around her, force her to think of how it was probably the last time she was going to be walking through it, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. 

Thankful for the respite from her quickly spiralling thoughts, she pulled it out of her pocket, frowning at the message. 

**_Murphy: have you seen this??_ **

She swiped her phone open and looked at his message, a small picture in the bubble below the text. Clicking on it, she watched the small bubble enlarge, the image of a house taking up her screen. 

Then she felt her heart lurch. 

Because it wasn’t just a house. It was one she’d mapped as well as she’d mapped as well as her own apartment, as well as her childhood home, as well as herself. 

And it had a for sale sign in front of it. 

She felt all the air rush out of her lungs and for just a moment she let herself be thankful she was still in the union, chairs scattered all around her, so she could sink into one without a thought as her knees gave out beneath her. 

For sale. He was selling the house. 

She couldn’t believe it, it couldn’t be true. Murphy was being a dick, he was teasing her, trying to freak her out. Some sort of senior prank, played on only her. 

Not even Murphy would do that. Not with this. He, of all people, knew what that house was. To her, to all of them. It was home, for years it was her home, even when it wasn’t. Even when she couldn’t bring herself to go over there, when too much had happened and too many silences filled too much space in that house, it was etched somewhere deep within her, burned there forever. It was all of theirs. 

The room was spinning around her as she imagined someone else, another family, a  new couple, a few kids, living in that house. Her house. Where she’d painted the walls and broken the smoke detector and stained the carpets and left her mark on every room. Every one of them had left their mark on every room. No one else should get to live there, not with all of that still floating around. Ghosts of the past four years--longer for the others--still seeping into the walls. 

She imagined someone else moving into the basement. Bellamy’s stuff in boxes and then gone for good. Someone else waking up from the light leaking into that window at the top of the wall above the bed where she’d woken up so many times. 

Someone else in that house where she’d met Raven and Wells and Monroe and Miller and Harper. Where she’d made friends and forged a family and fallen in love. Fallen back in love with art and music and people and herself and it was all in that house, built into those walls. 

And Bellamy had put a for sale sign in front of it. Like anyone could take that house, anyone could call it home, like it didn’t already belong to them. 

And he hadn’t even told her about it. 

It was like a knife to the gut, twisting in an existing wound, realizing that if Murphy hadn’t texted her she might not have even found out until the house was  _ sold _ . That she might have gone over there, knocked on the door and met a stranger on the other side. 

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she shook her head to will them away. 

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been there in weeks. It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t matter that things between them were weird or that everyone had moved out of that house but him. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t spoken to him alone in--she didn’t even know how long. 

It didn’t matter. 

When you’re planning on putting a piece of someone’s heart on the market, their home, the only place they’d had a clue what was going on in their life--you told them. No matter what. If you cared about them even a little bit, that’s what you did. 

She sucked in a breath. He didn’t. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter what happened in those crucial moments, all those months throughout her first year, he didn’t care what had happened in the three years since. He didn’t think she had any claim on it apparently. Like she hadn’t left bits of herself in every wall. He didn’t care. 

So she had to hear it from  _ Murphy _ . 

Well, fine. She opened her phone again, clicking on his contact info at the top of his message. It took a few rings for him to pick up. 

“Clarke,” he said when he did. 

“Hey,” she said. She let out a long breath. “Want to get super drunk?”

She heard him laugh on the other line a moment before his response came crackling through. “On my way to the Dropship now. Meet you there in twenty?”

“First round's on me,” she confirmed. 

*** 

Murphy--Murphy could hold his liquor. She’d really thought he was bluffing, but six shots into the night and he was still sitting up straight, broody as ever, of course, but clear as day any time he opened his mouth. 

Clarke, on the other hand, wasn’t looking quite as elegant. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she said, leaning into him a bit. He had to hold out his hand to steady her, pressing against her shoulder to maneuver her back into place. “He wasn’t even going to  _ tell _ me? He told  _ you _ , and he didn’t even bother to tell me? Not even a phone call, or an  _ email? _ ” She hiccuped. “I mean. No offense.”

“Trust me,” he said. “None taken. But he didn’t tell me. Monroe told me.”

“What?” She hiccuped again and Murphy waved over the bartender to ask for a couple glasses of water. 

“Yeah,” he said, pushing one of the glasses toward her as he took a sip of his own. “She called me a few days ago. Said she was at the house, packing up her old things when she found a few of my old books and tshirts and stuff lying around the house.”

“So he told Monroe,” she said. “Probably Miller, too then. And Raven and Wells. In case they left stuff there too.” 

There was a stone in her stomach and she wasn’t sure how long it had been sitting there. But it was growing heavier by the second. Every name they mentioned, every person Bellamy told about the house, everyone who found out before her, who was told, purposefully, made the rock double in size, and she wasn’t so sure she was going to be able to pull herself off of the stool to walk home with a stone that size in her gut. 

“Probably,” Murphy agreed. “And Octavia. And Monroe means Harper.”

She wanted to throw up. She felt the bile rising, burning back at her esophagus as it fought to climb it’s way up her throat and she wasn’t sure if it was the six shots of tequila on an empty stomach, or the fact that she had been the only one who wasn’t told about the house. 

She ordered another shot for each of them. Murphy raised his eyebrow as the bartender brought them over. She lifted hers in the air in salute. 

“To moving on.” She shot it back and liked that at this point, it didn’t even burn anymore. “Apparently.”

*** 

**August 2012**

Clarke had barely seen her roommate the entire first week of school. She stopped in occasionally, changing and showering and napping. Grabbing books for class and booze for--whatever else it was that she did--but never anything more than that. 

She was back in her dorm room on friday, after her classes, ready to slip into sweatpants and eat junk while she read, figuring she’d probably have the room to herself again. She eyed the roommate agreement sheets her RA, Anya, had dropped off when she’d moved in on Sunday, but she hadn’t touched them since. 

Anya was the only other person on the floor that she knew and she’d only met her briefly, when she’d come in to give Clarke and Octavia the paperwork for living together. 

“Where’s Octavia?” Anya asked, stepping into the doorway without so much as a courtesy knock. 

Clarke shrugged. “Haven’t met her yet.”

Anya stepped into the room, walking over to where Clarke was sitting on her bed. She handed her the papers, glancing around the room. Clarke watched her eyes roll when she landed on the bottle of vodka sitting out on Octavia’s night stand. 

“Tell her to at least put that in a drawer next time,” Anya said. She seemed to remember suddenly why she was there. “I’m your RA, Anya. Fill these sheets out with Octavia within the next week and bring them back to me. If you have any questions, I’ll be down the hall.”

And she hadn’t seen her since. 

***

Clarke startled, in the middle of pulling her sweatpants on when Octavia barreled through the door, slamming it behind her. 

“No way,” she said, and it took Clarke a moment to realize she was talking to her. “Take those things off. Put normal people clothes on.”

“Excuse me?”

Octavia dropped her bag by her desk and pulled out the bottle of vodka from her bottom drawer, where she’d stashed it after Clarke’s suggestion to move it. Unscrewing the cap she took a shot straight from the bottle, hissing when she pulled it away from her lips. Then, she put it back on the desk and moved to her stereo, turning it on loudly before answering Clarke. 

“You’ve been in here all week,” she shouted over the music. She was rummaging through her drawers, not looking at Clarke. After a moment Clarke heard a soft  _ a-ha! _ and watched as Octavia pulled out two shot glasses and set them on her desk. Then she stood facing Clarke, her hands on her hips. “Or at least, every time I’ve been in here in the past week you’ve been in here in pajamas or sweats, so it’s time for you to go out.”

She poured two shots and held one out to Clarke. 

“There’s nothing wrong with relaxing after class,” Clarke grumbled taking the shot from her. She tipped it back, grimacing as the cheap vodka burned against her tongue and her throat. This couldn’t possibly be what people liked to drink. 

“I didn’t say there was,” Octavia said. “But you’ve done it all week so now you’re going to go out and meet some new people.” 

“Nobody likes to be pitied you know,” Clarke mumbled, finding a decent pair of black leggings to pull on instead of the sweatpants. She could see Octavia nod in approval out of the corner of her eye as she sifted through her own closet. 

“This isn’t pity. You seem cool.” 

Clarke snorted. There was no way for Octavia to have actually decided she was cool. They’d spoken, like, twice. 

“Look,” Octavia said turning toward her. She was half dressed, tight black pants and a simple black bra on. Her hand was outstretched gesturing toward Clarke’s half of the room, the shirt clenched between her fist waving around with the movement. “We like the same music, from what I’ve heard you listen to. I like the shows you watch and the books you brought all seem pretty cool. You don’t seem too uptight or obsessed with school and you don’t bitch at me for coming in late. If tonight is totally awkward and we don’t get along, you don’t have to come out with me again, but it seems stupid to not even try to be friends with a roommate who likes the same crap as me.” 

Octavia didn’t wait for Clarke to answer, just pulled her shirt on and continued getting ready. 

“Okay.” She turned back to her closet and tried to find a half decent shirt. “You’re right. Might as well.” 

She grinned as Octavia rolled her eyes at that, but took the second shot she offered her. 

*** 

They were going to her brothers house, Octavia told her when they walked out of the dorm room. Octavia packed a backpack with sweats and a toothbrush and told Clarke to do the same. 

“We might not stay the night,” she said, at Clarke’s questioning look. “But it’s always better to be prepared, right?”

“Just like the boy scouts,” Clarke nodded in agreement. 

Octavia’s brother, Bellamy, had a house just a few minutes walk from campus. 

“I was supposed to live there with him,” she said while they walked. There was a cool breeze swirling around them. Clarke loved the weather in late August, warm enough from summer still that she didn’t have to bundle up, but not so humid. Perfect to walk around in. “Save some money and all that. But Bell has so many roommates that it didn’t really matter. And I was ready for something else.” 

Clarke nodded in understanding. She knew exactly what Octavia meant about wanting something new. That’s all college was for her. She didn’t really know what she actually wanted to study, she just knew she wanted to be away from how she grew up. In the same place for at least four years. 

“Right of passage and all that,” she said in response.

“Exactly!” Octavia smiled. 

It was about a ten minute walk to Bellamy’s place and when they got there, Clarke could hear the music blaring inside from the driveway. 

The house was on the corner of the street, a small split level with bikes and chairs littered across the lawn. There were four cars parked in the driveway, a beat up station wagon in the garage, and a cooler sitting on the concrete just outside the front door. Octavia led her away from the walkway leading to the door, dragging her through the garage instead. 

Without knocking, Octavia opened the door and ushered Clarke in. There was a pile of shoes and coats and bags right at the doorway that she nearly tripped on. She scrambled trying to find a bit of bare floor to step on but gave up after a few moments, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag in the pile after Octavia. 

“It’s a mess over here,” Octavia said in apology, “but it’s easier than having everyone carry their shit around or scattering it all around the house all night.” 

Clarke nodded and followed her through the house, to the living room where there are far less people than she thought there would be. There were only four or five people scattered throughout, sitting on the couch and on the floor around a coffee table, music blasting like it was a huge house party. 

Clarke startled when Anya walked by, waving at them. She held up a book. 

“Had to grab this from Monroe,” she said, mostly to Octavia. Clarke had no idea who Monroe was. “Don’t wake up the whole hallway when you get back.” Then she was gone, walking past them to the shoe mountain and out the door again. 

Clarke raised her eyebrows questioningly at Octavia, who shrugged. 

“She grew up around here too. I’ve known her for years.” 

Clarke continued to follow Octavia, who headed straight for the kitchen with hardly more than a wave to the people sitting scattered around the living room. She hesitated as they glanced over at her, some of them opening their mouths to make introductions, others just cocking their heads curiously, but after a moment's pause she hurried after Octavia without a word. 

There were a couple other people in the kitchen, but they hardly noticed her when she walked in. A plate of about ten grilled cheese sandwiches sat next to the pair of them, one handsome boy, dressed in a sweatshirt from her and Octavia’s school, and a tall girl who, looking stoned out of her mind, was finishing off wrapping a loosely knit scarf around the boy's’ neck. The boy was standing over the stove grilling another sandwich as the girl beside him assembled more. 

“Think you’ve got enough grilled cheese there Raven?” Octavia asked as she pulled the fridge open. 

“Never!” the girl, Raven, cried, slapping another dry sandwich down into the pan, causing the boy next to her to swear. 

“Dammit, Raven, you just ruined my other sandwich. It was going to be  _ perfect _ .”

“Stop pouting, Wells.” Raven rolled her eyes. Then she glanced over at Clarke. “Who’s this?”

“Uh, Clarke,” she said. “I’m Clarke. Octavia’s roommate.” 

“Cool.” Raven offered her a sandwich. “I’m Raven, this is Wells. We live with Octavia’s brother.” At that she turned back to Octavia. “Where is he, by the way? It was his turn to do the grocery shopping and he didn’t get the kind of cheese we like.” 

“How should I know?” Octavia asked, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite. “You’re the one who lives with him. Want a drink?”

The last question was directed at Clarke, who jumped, and Raven went back to talking to Wells. She heard mumbled bickering from the other side of the kitchen and watched as Octavia opened the cupboard next to the sink and pulled out two glasses. 

“Um, sure,” Clarke said. “Whatever you’re having.”

“Okay,” Octavia said. She considered for a moment and then put the glasses back in the cupboard and took a couple beers from the fridge, twisting off the caps and handing one to Clarke. “If you want something stronger we can grab it later.” She took a sip from hers and tipped it toward Raven and Wells. “Raven and Wells are two of my brother’s roommates. Raven lives in my old room, Wells in Bellamy’s, and he lives in the basement now, because he’s not actually human enough to be on the same floor as other living people. There’s also Miller and Monroe, who you’ll meet. They share the giant master bedroom upstairs--they have the neatest and most anal retentive living habits, especially in the bathroom so they got the room with the attached bath.”

It was a lot of people in one house. She’d never lived with more than just her parents, she was having a weird enough time living with another person who was barely ever in their room she couldn’t imagine four roommates. 

“Come on,” Octavia said, gesturing to the living room. “I’ll introduce you to everyone else.” 

They meandered back into the living room where everyone else was. Octavia reached out to turn the knob on the stereo down before she called out to them. 

“Everyone,” she said, “This is my roommate Clarke. We’re trying to socialize her.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at Octavia but gave a small wave to everyone around her. There was a girl with wild red hair, pulled back into some sort of intricate braid, sitting on the ground in front of the television, arms crossed in front of her on the coffee table. A blonde girl with a braid and a headband wrapped around her forehead, an arm looped through the right arm of the red haired girl. On the couch there was a sullen looking man in a beanie who gave Octavia a small nod when she plopped down next to him. Anya had been the only other one in the room when they’d first gotten there, but she’d left, so Clarke was left with those three. 

“That’s Monroe,” Octavia said, pointing to the girl with the red hair. “Next to her is Harper, and this guy is Miller.”

“Hello, everyone,” Clarke said awkwardly. She looked around for a moment and then decided to slip in between Miller and Octavia on the couch. 

There was a general grunt of hellos in response before Wells, carrying a plate of at least fifteen grilled cheese sandwiches, and Raven, with her arms piled with sodas and beers and chips, filed in behind them, dropping all the food all over the coffee table and sitting on either side of Harper and Monroe.

“I was promised a night of booze and trashy reality tv,” Raven said through a mouth full of cheetos. “Where the hell is my trashy tv?”

“Cables out.” It was Monroe who said it, reaching for a sandwich. “Miller forgot to pay the bill.”

“Then why the hell are we even here?” Harper asked. “I would’ve gone out tonight.”

“You want to pay eight dollars for a beer?” Miller raised his eyebrows at her, just as Monroe threw a grilled cheese at her face. Harper stuck her tongue out. “Didn’t think so.”

***

A few hours later found them in mostly the same spots, but deeper, her spine feeling like it had fused permanently with the back of the couch. Octavia had propped her feet up onto the table once the sandwiches were eaten and the beers were claimed one by one. Miller had stretched only slightly, his legs sticking out and his arm thrown haphazardly over the arm of the couch as he slid further and further down the cushions until his head was in line with Clarke’s belly. 

They were all stretched out, sprawled all over eachother. Legs thrown over other legs, backs on laps, hands playing with other people’s hair. The room was full with only seven of them surrounding the table. 

It was hard for Clarke to reconcile this--this relaxed melding of people all around her, including herself, this mellow party of grilled cheese and potato chips and beer, this way seven people could all melt into the same room and fill it through sheer force of will rather than mass itself--it was hard for her to reconcile it with the way she grew up, taking up exactly as much space as was allowed to her, never overlapping in anyone else’s, everyone sitting on exactly one cushion or chair, never stretched out over each other on the floor. 

It was hard for her to make this group of friends make sense with what she knew of friends. She was moving, all the time, moving from city to city so she never got one of these. One of those houses where she and all her friends could hang out. Just sit around on a friday night with pizza and beer, or pizza and a movie or pizza and anything really. She had friends, of course, wherever she went, they weren’t hard to make. 

They were just sort of hard to get past chatting in the hallway, giving help with homework phase. 

Even then, squished in between Miller and Octavia, watching Monroe leaning into Harper, teasing Wells and poking Raven, she felt sealed off. Like she was behind some sort of wall, too careful to chime in with anything other than laughter. Part of her couldn’t help but feeling like she was already missing out. Sitting there on the sidelines, letting something slip through her fingers before she even knew it was happening. 

It was pulling at her chest, telling her to say something, to melt into the people around her, but every time she opened her mouth her throat dried up and she imagined the sound of her voice croaking out between her lips, and she just sat back and felt her eyes move back and forth between whoever was talking. It felt too late to do anything about it anyway.

***

Octavia was dozing off on her shoulder and Harper and Wells were whisper arguing about which version of the Spiderman movies were better, while everyone else slept around them when Clarke heard the front door open. 

She looked over and saw a man with dark curly hair, dressed in gym clothes with a bag slung over his shoulder, walk through the door. As he got closer Clarke felt her eyes roam up and down, his muscle tank showing off a generous bit of his torso, but snapped back to her hands folded on her lap before he could get too close. 

“Cables out,” Monroe said, grumbling with her eyes still closed as she leaned on Harper. 

“Oh hey Monroe, happy to see you too, my day was fine,” he said. He snorted as he glanced around the room, most of the people slumped over half asleep, still grunting in response to something Wells or Harper was saying, but no more than that. He paused when he got to Clarke. 

“You’re a new one,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Bellamy, Octavia’s brother. Roommate to all, apparently.”

“Clarke,” she said. “Octavia’s roommate.”

He nodded, smiling at her. “Cool. I’ve got to go get changed, but it was nice meeting you. And I’m sorry for the behavior of my roommates.”

“We didn’t do anything!” Wells broke from his debate with Harper for a moment to interject. 

“Sure, of course.” He winked.

Bellamy gave her another small smile and a wave before slipping into the kitchen where she heard a door open and shut quietly behind him. 

She waited for the room to pick back up around her, but it seemed to sink further into silence, like they had been waiting for Bellamy to get home so they could finally give up on pretending not to want to go to sleep. She wanted to stretch her legs, her body stiff from staying in the same position all night, so she stood up, stretching her arms above her head and nodded toward the kitchen. 

“Just gonna grab a glass of water,” she said. 

“Glasses in the cupboard next to the sink!” Raven called softly behind her. 

She waved a thank you and went into the kitchen, filling up the glass and downing it in just a few seconds before filling it back up again. She hoisted herself up on the counter, where Raven had been when she met her and let her head lean back against the hard wooden cupboard behind her. 

“Rough day?” A voice startled her out of her thoughts, her eyes snapping open. It was Bellamy, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and then leaning against it, watching her. 

He’d changed from his gym clothes into...what looked like just more comfortable gym clothes to Clarke. Sweatpants and a loose and cropped tank top, showing of a dark happy trail leading into the waistband of the sweats. 

“No, not rough,” she sighed. “Just uneventful. The whole week honestly. Isn’t college supposed to be more exciting?”

“More exciting than sitting around a random stranger's living room listening to two other strangers argue about superhero movies?” He smirked. “Wouldn’t know. Never went.”

“Oh,” she said. Octavia hadn’t mentioned that. Not that she would, not that it would come up. But she wasn’t sure what to say to that. Bit of a theme for the night, really, she thought. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, catching on to her hesitation. “I just didn’t want to. I’ve got a job I like and I didn’t feel like paying thousands of dollars to delay my promotion four years.” He reached into the cupboard and dug out a box of cookies, holding it over to Clarke before taking one for himself. 

“Sorry about them, by the way,” he nodded to the living room. “They forget how weird and incestuous our group is. Don’t realize it might be uncomfortable for new people to jump in without warning. Though I suspect that was mostly O’s doing, bringing you here?” He waited for her nod, which she gave, blushing, ducking her head. “Yeah, figures. She’s freakishly good at jumping in with other people like she belongs there. Doesn’t realize there’s another way to make friends.”

They stood in silence eating for a few moments before he continued. 

“We’ve all known each other since we were kids, so we kind of forget how to be normal around people. Don’t let it scare you off.”

She straightened up a bit. “I’m not scared off.”

“Good,” Bellamy smiled. “You seem normal. Octavia could use a normal friend.”

She laughed, letting her legs swing back and forth, feeling a bit lighter than she had just twenty minutes ago. It was intoxicating, the house. The closeness they all had. She hadn’t jumped right in as well as she thought she would but she was glad it didn’t mean she wouldn’t get to. 

Bellamy reached for another cookie and she met his eye. He opened his mouth to say something, and grimaced a bit, almost like an apology before he did. 

“Okay, I’ve got to be the big brother for just a second,” he said quickly. He pulled out his phone and handed it to Clarke. “You’re Octavia’s roommate. Put your number in and I’ll text you mine. Just in case anything…”

He trailed off but she nodded, grabbing at his phone and punching her number in. 

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “No problem.” 

She was about to open her mouth to say something else--she wasn’t sure what but something, anything to kepe the only conversation that had been directed at her all night going, when there was a soft knock on the door to the garage.  Whoever was only the other said waited a moment, but not for anyone to answer the door before slipping in. 

It was a tall girl, with a round, smiling face, and curly hair, who walked into the kitchen beside Bellamy. 

“Hey,” she said. 

He looped an arm over her shoulders. “Hey,” he said, smiling warmly at the girl. “This is Clarke, Octavia’s roommate.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “Gina. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Clarke said. 

Gina leaned into Bellamy a bit, and he took one last cookie before giving Clarke an awkward salute. 

“Remember,” he said.  The two of them were heading toward the door, the one Clarke figured must lead to the basement. “Don’t let them all scare you off.”

“Right,” she laughed, a little forcefully. “I won’t.”

***

**May 2016**

Clarke didn’t bother changing into pajamas when she got home from the bar with Murphy. Just pulled her pants off and tossed them into a pile in the corner of her room and flopped down in bed. 

Her head was spinning and she was grateful Murphy had given her money for a cab, because no way would she have been able to walk home in her state. 

She still felt the flush of embarrassment, the pang in her chest from his message and every time she glanced at her phone she felt it all over, like it was happening for the first time again. 

She picked up the phone and clicked open the picture again. For sale. For sale for sale for sale. She still couldn’t believe it, it couldn’t be real. 

Before she even knew what she was doing, her fingers were hovering over a number she hadn’t used in months. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d called it. It sat like an ugly reminder in her phone. A heavy, ugly reminder that weighed her pocket down every day. Without giving her head a second to stop herself, she pressed it. 

Straight to voicemail, of course. 

_ Hey, It’s Bellamy, leave a message.  _

“Bellamy?” Her voice sounded like a stranger to her. Cracked and rough and broken. “It’s Clarke. I, uh, I just found out about the house.” She broke off, an ugly laugh breaking out between her lips. “From Murphy. I just found out about the house from  _ Murphy _ .

“Yeah, he uh, he texted me a picture of the for sale sign in front of it. Asked if I knew. Which, we both know, I didn’t!”

She hated how small she sounded. She hated that he would hear it, after all of it, everything that happened, and now the house, she was still the small one. 

“I can’t believe you did this, Bellamy. I _ can’t believe _ you would do this. You’re selling the house. Our house. Where we--fuck, just how could you? And how could you not tell me? Couldn’t spend five second on a text? Send an email? You just--this is low. Even for you Bellamy. That house--you know what it was. What it is.”

She curled up, wrapping her hands around the phone as she pressed it and herself into the pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. “I hate you for this, you know, “ she whispered. 

She clicked the red _ end call _ button before she could say anything else. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**May 2016**

 

Clarke woke up, unsurprisingly, with a headache. She peeled her eyes open, rubbing at them with her knuckles when they stuck together. Her head was pounding and even without the light on, the sun streaming through the window made her squint when she finally got her eyes all the way open. 

She padded her way to the kitchen, feeling the layer of sweat around her hairline dry as she moved, thankful she didn’t catch a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror as she passed. 

Never, never, never go drinking with Murphy. It was her survival rule, and she broke it, and now she had to pay the price. She wondered when that rule would finally stick. 

Waiting for her coffee to brew, she decided to grab her phone and text Raven, see if she wanted to do their usual hangover routine of brunch and a visit to the pet shop, but she stopped short when her phone flashed with six missed calls. 

Horrified she stared down at the screen, Bellamy’s name flashing up at her, the events of the night before coming back in a flood of humiliation. 

The voicemail. She really left it, it wasn’t some sort of terrible dream, a trick her mind played on her as she slept. She really called him. After months of not talking to him, she called him and cried on the message because he was selling the house. And she’d told him she hated him. 

And his answer was staring her in the face. 

Six missed calls and a voicemail she hadn’t listened to yet. 

Steeling herself, she clicked on it and brought the phone to her ear. 

_ “Clarke,” _ she nearly cracked at his voice alone. How pathetic.  _ “Look, I just got your message. I’m--I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the house. I didn’t--” _ he cut himself off with a sigh. 

She could practically see him, his free hand rubbing at his forehead, his fingers knotting in his hair, pulling at it in frustration. There was a tug in her stomach and she felt herself bite down on her lip and squeeze her eyes shut. 

_ “I didn’t realize you’d be so upset by it,” _ he continued.  _ “You haven’t been over in--well you know how long it’s been. You took all your extra stuff out the last time you were here so--the only reason I told the others was so they could go get anything they might have left behind when they moved out.” _

There was a long pause before he carried on. 

_ “Miller’s moving out and I can’t afford to live here on my own. There’s no use in living in a house that can house four people all on my own. I don’t want to live in this house on my own, Clarke. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you. Dammit I shouldn’t have to explain any of this to you, it’s my house. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but maybe if you’d bothered to stop by anytime in the past six months, you’d know that Miller was moving out and it was just me in that house now and it’s--it’s my house and I’m not living her alone.” _

His voice was loud. Angry and desperate. She heard him let out a short breath. There was a shuffling noise, his breathing suddenly very far away from the phone. He must have pulled it away from his ear, dropping his hand down to his side. 

_ “I’m sorry you found out the way you did. I should have called you. You can come by if you want. I’m sorry.” _

He didn’t sound like he was done talking but there was a click and then he was gone. Her voicemail was rambling into her ear about what button to press to delete the message or to call him back. 

She dropped her phone on the bed, suddenly feeling very nauseous. Her stomach was turning and her pulse was racing and as much as she wanted the coffee in the kitchen to kill the headache that was tearing her skull apart, she couldn’t imagine adding caffeine into the mix. 

She stood up, shaky, and decided to take a shower instead. 

*** 

She looked it up later, when she was clean and dressed and had some coffee in her system. She couldn’t help herself. She was clicking around on her laptop, seeing if any of her grades were posted, filtering through her email, deleting things now that the semester was over, and somehow she found herself looking up the listing. 

When she found it, she clicked through the pictures, her heart squeezing in her chest at each one. 

Then she saw the asking price. 

She felt her skin grow warm and before she knew what she was doing, she was grabbing her keys and pulling on her shoes, slamming the door behind her. 

It was still less than a ten minute drive from where her apartment was. She never wanted to live further than that, just in case. And when she got there she saw a big ‘Open House’ sign shoved in right next to the for sale sign. She jumped out and heard her car door slam behind her as she made her way up the driveway.

There were no more bikes, no more lawn chairs. No more coolers in front of the door. It was empty and open and not at all the yard she remembered. 

She waited, off to the side, perching on the arm of the couch in the living room, while Bellamy talked to some couple in the kitchen. It was the same couch, at least. The living room looked mostly the same. A little more bare, everyone taking their decorations with them when they moved out, and she wondered how long Bellamy had lived with nothing around him to fill the space. How long he’d been planning to sell the house--figuring why bother redecorate when he was going to be leaving anyway. 

Maybe he just didn’t want to take up the space that had belonged to their friends for so long. But the bare walls felt cold, making her feel small in the room in a way she never had before. 

She jumped up as soon as the couple walked away, pulling at Bellamy elbow until he looked over at her. 

“Clarke--” he said, startled. 

“Happy open house,” she snapped. She couldn’t help the bitterness laced in her voice. She felt a grim sort of satisfaction when she saw a blush creep its way up his neck.  _ Good _ , she thought.  _ I hope he is embarrassed _ . 

“I’m selling the house, Clarke,” he said, his voice hard. He wouldn’t look at her, his eyes darting all around the room, never settling, never landing on her. “This is just a reality of that.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why are you selling the house?”

She sounded like a crazy person. Her voice was small and desperate, and she could feel people starting to stare, but she didn’t care about them. It didn’t make sense to her. 

He nodded toward the basement. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s talk about this down there.”

She huffed, letting go of his arm, but nodded, following him downstairs. She waited until the door clicked shut and he made his way down the stairs, standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. 

While the rest of the house was bare and foreign, stripped of half of what she’d known for so long, this room, the basement, his space, was exactly as he remembered it. Even the sheets on the bed were the same ones from three years before. He still had pictures he’d developed, hanging in strings in the corner of the room, the small ratty couch facing the old tv. All his posters were still up, even his laundry basket was in the same place she remembered. 

It was startling. To step back three years in time. Familiar but different because the man standing in front of her was looking at her in a way he never had, not in all the time she’d known him. 

She took a breath and waited for him to speak. 

“Clarke,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re taking this so hard, but I’m selling the house. Okay? It’s happening.” 

She shook her head. She didn’t go there to argue with him, she wanted to talk, to see the house, to say goodbye, but she felt a fight clawing its way up her throat and she couldn’t stop herself. 

“I can’t believe you,” she said. “You’re practically giving this place away! What the hell Bellamy? Do you even care about this house at all?”

“Of course I--” 

She cut him off before he could continue. She wasn’t looking for an answer. She already knew the answer. 

“This house means more than this. I know it means something to you, Bellamy. You lived here your whole life. All your friends lived here, at one point or another. Don’t you think it deserves a little more than to be sold at the first opportunity?”

He stood silent in front of her. She saw his jaw tick and knew he was clenching his teeth, biting his words down, and she wondered, for the briefest of moments, what he would be yelling back at her if he wasn’t. 

“Did you even ask Octavia before you put it on the market? Did you tell anyone? Or was it an afterthought, like oh come get any stuff you left behind, because I’m selling our home.”

“It’s my home,” he said. His words were harsh and hard and cold. “Okay, Clarke? Everyone left. Everyone moved out. You left too, remember?” He shook his head. “It’s my house. And I’m selling it. And you need to move on, just like everyone else.”

“I--”

“You haven’t been by the house in months, Clarke. Move on. I need the money and I’m selling the house.” He turned to leave without waiting to see if she had anything more to say. She could hear his footsteps, heavy and angry pounding up the stairs. 

“Feel free to look around, see if you left anything,” he called from the top of the stairs. 

Then the door clicked shut behind him. 

She wondered what she could have possibly left there that she wouldn’t have gotten back already. She never lived there, not officially, not really. 

Just nights in the basement, more than she spent in her dormroom freshman year, a guest overstaying her welcome, not a roommate. She brushed her fingers over the worn fabric of the couch, closing her eyes. She wondered how it could feel so familiar after so long without touching it. 

His voice was seeping through the ceiling of the basement. Charming and happy and completely different than he’d been only a moment ago. She sank down onto the back of the couch and breathed it in for one long moment. 

***

**November 2012**

It was strange that really only five people lived in the house. Whenever she was there, no matter what time day or night, there were at least two other people who didn’t live there, cooking in the kitchen, watching the tv, doing school work on the couch. 

It was like a safe house, a community center. 

Murphy, who hadn’t been there her first visit to the house, was almost constantly raiding the fridge, and even though he ate anything that was put in front of him, he was always complaining to whoever did the shopping that week, that they were purposefully buying crap food to get him to stop coming over. 

“Yeah,” Miller snorted when he shared that theory. “Like that’s ever worked.”

Anya was there a lot too, usually passing in and out. Harper too. Miller groaned about the bedroom being too small when she came over and stayed, sleeping in Monroe’s bed but they just teased him, saying he was jealous that he was still single, and he’d flip them off, going back to whatever game he was watching. 

It was warm and full, the opposite of her dorm room every time she went over there, and it didn’t take long for her to feel alright stopping in without Octavia. It was just what they all did. Popping in and out, grabbing a quick meal, watching a little TV and then going on their way for the day. She and Octavia crashed most weekends, sleeping on the couch or blowing up an air mattress and rolling off it in the night, but there was always coffee and Wells’ famous pancakes to wake up to in the morning, so the crick in her neck didn’t bother her so much. 

She got along with all of them, even Murphy who she still wasn’t sure what to talk to about, more than she’d ever gotten along with her other friends before. They were all different, clashing in ways she thought would cause problems but all it did was make it work more. They argued and bickered and teased each other, but it all made sense, clicking in a way she realized people were supposed to. Filling gaps in one person with gaps from another. 

Bellamy was there the least often out of all of them, even though it was his house. He worked two jobs, so he was constantly poking in and out of the house between his shifts, but when he came home, he’d plop down next to her on the couch and hand her the remote, letting her pick what to fry their brains with that night.

She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach every time it happened, because she knew there was absolutely no way she could let herself focus on it and stay normal around him. 

Plus there was Gina to think about.  

Gina, who was hardly ever over, except random nights throughout the week, or whenever she stopped by to pick Bellamy up. They weren’t all that touchy or affectionate when she did come by and Clarke wondered how long they’d been dating that they’d become so indifferent about being near each other. 

Sometimes she’d come by and hang out with Raven when Bellamy wasn’t there, or she’d sit in the living room with them all when Bellamy didn’t feel like going out. She didn’t talk much. She was friendly enough but it seemed like she was there to kill time, more than she was there to spend time with any of them, even Bellamy. 

Most of the time they just sort of hovered within in the vicinity of one another before she’d give him a look and Bellamy would shrug and they’d go down into the basement. 

She couldn’t help the heat that worked its way into her cheeks whenever it happened and she always ducked her head, trying to will the flush away because there was no reason for her to be blushing, but she was and she couldn’t help it, so she tucked her chin to her chest and tried to pretend that she wasn’t. 

And then she would always look up and see Raven watching her, an eyebrow raised and she didn’t know what to say. How she could explain that was nothing, that it was just her body taking over and making it seem like something it wasn’t. Something in her gut said that Raven wouldn’t believe her no matter what she said. 

***

Bellamy always had a camera with him, whenever he was there, whenever the group was hanging out all together, on purpose, rather than all bumping into each other as they looked for a quiet place to eat lunch, sitting in a clump in the living room. It was an old film camera, flashing every few minutes, Bellamy pulling it down, a big goofy smile on his face whenever he caught them off guard. 

He snapped one of Clarke walking through the door one Wednesday afternoon. Her hair was slicked with sweat onto her forehead from the walk over with her backpack weighing a million pounds. 

“What the hell are you doing home?” she asked, startled, wishing she’d had a moment to make herself look human again before he’d snapped a picture of her. 

“Well hello, welcome to my home Clarke, how are you?” Bellamy said, teasing her. 

“Sorry, I’m just surprised you’re home. It’s a wednesday afternoon, why aren’t you at work?” She dropped her bag down next to the table and plopped into a chair, out of breath. 

“Agua,” she pleaded. 

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but walked over to the cabinet and filled a glass with ice water, bringing it back over to her and setting it in front of her with a flourish. 

“There you go your highness.”

She took a sip, grateful, and then looked back up at him. “So really, middle of the afternoon. What are you doing home?”

He just shrugged, sitting down across from her. “Switched shifts with a coworker, I’m working tomorrow night instead. What are you doing here?”

She dropped her head onto the table in defeat. 

“Wells is saving me from crippling, humiliating defeat in my calculus class. I have a quiz tomorrow and I have no idea what I’m doing,” she said. “Wells helps me study Wednesday afternoons.”

“Ah,” he said. “And here I thought you were just here to see me.”

“Oh, yes,” she teased. “I can see how you would think that given my total shock at your being home. Easy mistake to make.”

She reached out and grabbed a cookie from the plate on the table. She nibbled at it as she watched him move around the kitchen, wiping down dishes with a towel and putting them away. She hardly ever got to see him like this, midafternoon, almost domestic. Usually whenever she saw him, he was getting home from work, running up and down between his room in the basement, either shuffling back out to run errands or grab another shift, or he was collapsing onto the couch, shoving her over to the side, too tired from work to do anything other than stretch his legs out onto the coffee table and stealing whatever snack she had nabbed from the kitchen. 

“You crashing tonight?” he asked, reaching to the top cupboard to put some plates away. 

“I’m not sure,” she mumbled over a mouth full of cookie. “Depends how late I’m studying. Which, with my current record in calculus, could be very late.”

“Alright,” he said, laughing. “Let me know if you need the air mattress.”

“Oh, I think I’ll be alright on the couch if it comes to that.”

Wells wandered into the kitchen then, picking up the plate of cookies, holding them out of reach from Clarke. 

“Ready to do this Griffin?” he asked. 

Clarke groaned but nodded, grabbing her bag from where it rested at her feet. He gave Bellamy a quick nod and a  _ “Hey man,” _ before making his way out of the kitchen, holding the cookies high above his head to lure Clarke out of there. She stood, groaning and made to follow him up to his room. 

“Good luck,” Bellamy said. “Knock twice on his floor if you need an emergency to get you out of there.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he scrunched his face up in return before she made her way up to Wells room to study. 

*** 

Raven insisted they have a party after she passed her quiz. 

“It’s just a quiz,” Clarke said, when Raven yelled  _ Congratulations _ ! at her when she walked through the door. “And I only got a B minus.”

Raven thrust a beer into her hand. “You’re going to take the party away from us? It’s a fragile part of the semester for most of us, and you’re going to risk the morale of the many because you don’t know how to celebrate a good thing?”

“Oh my god,” she said, taking the beer and rolling her eyes. “Calm down, crazy we can celebrate.”

“Very generous of you,” she heard a low voice by her ear and turned to see Bellamy standing next to her, smiling. He was dressed in dark jeans and a tight grey sweater, a drink in his hand. 

“I thought so,” Clarke said. “You look nice. Going out?”

Bellamy shook his head. “No, I’m in for the night. Gotta celebrate our favorite freshman getting a b minus on a minor calculus quiz, right?”

“Don’t let Octavia hear you call me the favorite freshman, she might challenge me to a duel,” she said, laughing. “And she can definitely kick my ass.” 

A warm laughed trickled out of Bellamy, and she felt the embarrassing flush warm her skin again, and she was grateful for the low lighting Raven insisted on every time they threw a party--even though it was the same people who were always at the house, this time just drinking and smoking.

“Really though,” Bellamy said, leaning into her. “I know you’re worried about that class. Nice job.”

She smiled and took a sip of her beer. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

***

It was about two am when she woke with a thud, falling off the air mattress onto the floor. She rubbed her head as she stood, moving into the kitchen to get a glass of water, throwing a glare over her shoulder, at Octavia who had unceremoniously stretched across the entire air mattress, pushing her off. She would have taken the couch, but Murphy was hanging off it, his arm dangling down onto the floor, his mouth open and snoring loudly. 

She startled when the light above her turned on and she covered her mouth as she whipped around, watching Bellamy shaking in laughter at her. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“No,” she lied, shaking her head. “I wasn’t startled.” 

He grabs a glass from the cupboard and stands next to her in silence, taking a few sips before turning back to her. 

“Octavia is still a bed hog, I see,” he said, nodding to the living room. She snorted, nodding back at him. “Come on,” he pulled on her elbow. “I’ve got a couch downstairs, you can take my bed I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “You don’t have to--”

“Seriously,” he said. “Murphy’s gonna keep you up all night with his snoring anyway. I promise it’s fine.” 

She followed him down into the basement, watching as he grabbed a pillow and a blanket off his bed, throwing them onto the couch. She glanced around, noticing all the pictures hanging in the corner, ones he’d taken of them, sitting around the living room, cooking in the kitchen, the one of her from the other day, walking in through the front door, sweating and smiling. Posters lined the wall beside his bed, overlapping each other. There was a chair next to his bed, a makeshift bedside table with a glass of water and an alarm clock on top of it. 

He rubbed his neck, stepping back away from the mattress. 

“I’ve got a bathroom down here too,” he said, pointing to a door in the corner. “So you don’t have to worry about tripping up the stairs or anything on your way up.”

She nodded, awkwardly crawling into the bed as he watched, before he turned around and climbed onto the couch. 

***

She woke, groggy, when a warm body slid in next to her. She sat up, rubbing her eye, pushing the covers off, but a hand stilled her. 

“Sorry,” Bellamy said, voice scratchy. “I forgot how much that couch hurt my back. I’ve been tossing and turning for an hour. Do you mind?”

The room was dark, pitch black except for the moonlight streaming in through the small window at the top of the wall above the bed. Bellamy’s eyes were slipping closed, and he was rubbing them like he was trying to stay awake for the conversation. 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, of course. It’s your bed, I’ll just--” she moved to get out of the bed and go over to the couch but Bellamy grabbed her hand. 

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “That couch is a piece of crap. You can stay here, I don’t mind.”

“Oh,” she said, slowly sinking back down into her pillow. “Okay. Uh, night Bellamy.”

His voice was muffled by the pillow he’d shoved his face into when he answered. “Night, Clarke.”


	3. Chapter 3

**May 2016**

It was the first time in four years Clarke hadn’t had to fight for parking on campus. No big jeeps whipping around corners, small sleek sports cars with douchey frat boy drivers cutting her off to slip into a spot she was already halfway into, no minivans parked across two spaces instead of one. None of that. 

She pulled into the staff parking lot, the first time ever, since the parking rules weren’t in play on Sundays, and got the spot closest to campus. 

It was satisfying. That after four years of brawling in the parking lot she got to slide into the best spot with ease, just before graduation. Her university's final gift to her. 

She smiled as she pushed her door shut and locked it. 

It was dead in the shop when she walked in, Maya, covered in flour and cheese behind the counter. She gave Clarke a small wave as she pulled a pizza out of the top oven, sliding it down onto the counter before cashing out the only customer in the entire shop. 

“Wow,” Clarke said, sliding behind the counter next to Maya. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this dead in here.” 

Maya laughed, wiping down the sauce spilled in front of the register. 

“Yeah,” she said nodding. “Turns out once the semester is over and everyone is moved off campus, no one really feels like coming to a crappy college pizza shop anymore.” 

Clarke squeezed past her, going to the center unit to steal a chicken wing, her stomach suddenly rumbling with the smell of food all around her. She nibbled on it a little, sliding up to sit on the counter. 

“Wow,” she said, swinging her legs back and forth in front of her. “Gotta tell ya, the powerful feeling of sitting on the counter without the fear of being fired is magnificent. Would definitely recommend.”

Maya laughed, flicking the towel at her. 

“I guess I’ll find out next year.” She stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes, groaning. “Another whole year at this place and you’re abandoning me. Traitor.”

Clarke stuck her lower lip out, pouting. 

“Fine,” Maya sighed. “I’m not mad. Well not at you. I  _ do _ think it’s stupid only students can work here though.”

Clarke nodded at that as she chewed, though she wouldn’t have stayed on after graduation anyway. Not that she was sure what she was going to do instead or where she was going to go. But four years at a pizza shop was far more than enough. One year at a pizza shop was far more than enough, really. 

But she would miss Maya. 

“I suppose,” Maya said digging through the drawer, “that you’re here for this.”

Clarke reached out and took her last paycheck from Maya. 

“Wow,” she said, everything sinking in around her. “So weird.” Maya just raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I mean,” Clarke carried on. “This is the last time I’m gonna be here, behind this counter. The last time I’m gonna have to worry about remembering to come in and get my check. Might be my last time on campus--apart from graduation. It’s just weird, you know?”

“Well,” Maya laughed. “No, I don’t. But I’m sure you’re right. I’m just having trouble seeing past the next year, personally, but I’m sure you’ll be getting a call this time next year when I finally know what you’re saying.” 

Clarke licked the hot sauce off her fingers, smiling. She hoped Maya would call her. She’d worked there with her the entire time she’d been in school. They started together as freshman, and it felt wrong to be moving on without her. 

“Remind me again why I chose a five year program?” Maya said, dropping her head against the counter. 

“Because you’re actually going to do something with your degree, unlike me,” Clarke teased. She smoothed the stray hairs down on top of Maya’s head. 

“Are you ready?” Maya asked, lifting her head up. “To move on from it all?”

_ You need to move on, just like everyone else _ . She forced a smile at Maya as the memory bubbled up in her at the question. 

“I guess I’m gonna have to be, right?” She hopped down from the counter and grabbed a box, filling it up with wings and garlic bread. 

“I have basically nothing set up,” she admitted. “I sent out a few resumes, but I haven’t actually heard back from anyone yet.”

“I’m sure someone will scoop you up soon,” Maya said. “If not, you always know where to go to get free food.”

Clarke threw a piece of pepperoni at her, ducking when Maya when to fling a hunk of dough back at her, listening to it splat against the tiled floor. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Clarke said. 

“I’m here for you, Griffin,” she said. She shoved the box of food into Clarke’s hand and shoved her shoulder. “Now get the fuck out of my pizza shop. Go do great things or whatever.” 

*** 

**October 2012**

She’d been expecting at least a minute or two of training when she walked into the shop for her first day, but all that happened was her boss shoving a pizza slice into her hand, nodding toward the front counter, a line of customers forming on the other side. 

“Go for it,” he grunted and turned and headed toward the back.

She shuffled back to the front, wiping the hairs away from her already sweating forehead and made a mental note to wear shorts to work instead of jeans the next time. 

It had been a couple weeks since her disastrous first day where she’d dropped every other slice of pizza she carried to the oven to warm, and burned herself on the side of the oven no less than three times, and she’d finally gotten the hang of things. 

A girl with short wavy dark hair, Maya, had started two weeks before her and had paired her schedule with Clarke’s, mercifully, so she could show her the ropes--that she’d figured out for herself since their boss was never seen more than when he popped his head in the window whenever a back order was ready. 

“Damn,” she heard Maya whistle. “Check out this guy.”

Clarke looked up, wiping her hands on her shirt, a dusting of flour and cheese sticking to the starchy cotton fabric. She grinned to herself when she saw it was Bellamy walking through the doors, his hand coming up in a small wave as he spotted her behind the counter. 

Maya looked over at her dumbfounded and she was glad she had the excuse of the oven for the blush spreading across her face. 

“Clarke,” he said. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

She held her arms out at her sides, gesturing to the mess around her. 

“Welcome to my glamorous, secret life.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head fondly. He stepped back and looked at the menu, his eyebrows crinkling the longer he stared at it. 

“Having trouble there?” she asked. 

“You guys serve hot dogs here.” It wasn’t a question. His voice was laced with laughter and she had to resist the urge to pick up a tater tot and throw it over the counter at him. 

“Yeah,” she shook her head. “Don’t know why. No one has ever actually ordered one.” 

“Not true!” Maya popped up next to her. “One guy did on Tuesday, to go along with his fish tacos.”

“We serve fish tacos?” Clarke turned to her. “What the hell?” 

Maya shrugged, turning her attention away from Clarke and toward Bellamy. She held her hand out for him to shake. 

“I’m Maya,” she said. “Clarke’s mentor and life coach.” Clarke snorted and got an elbow to the ribs. “How do you know our girl here?”

There was a suggestive hint to her voice and Clarke forced her gaze away from Bellamy, eyes boring into the side of Maya’s head, hoping she’d suddenly mastered the ability of telepathic communication so she could silently tell Maya to _ shut the fuck up _ . 

“I’m Bellamy. My sister is Clarke’s roommate,” Bellamy said. “And, of course, she’s a horrible freeloader. Practically eats us out of house and home whenever she comes over.” 

He threw Clarke a wink as she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Oh well,” Maya said. “In that case, I think we owe you a free slice! Right Clarke?” 

Before Clarke could answer, Bellamy spoke up. 

“Actually, I’m on a mission for a friend. She’s having a party and asked me to pick up a pizza. Maybe you could throw some extra toppings on for free?” He suggested.

Clarke nodded, taking his order, yelling into the back when she put the slip up. 

“It’s probably going to be like twenty minutes, if you don’t want to hang around.”

Bellamy shook his head. “No, I don’t mind hanging out. I haven’t seen you in a while.” He glanced around the shop. “Though I guess I know why you’ve been so busy lately.”

She nodded over to the register, ringing him up before leaning her elbows down on the counter, happy for a break from work. Happy to see him. He was right, it had been a few days at least. She’d been in and out of the house a few times, studying with Wells, hanging out with Raven and Monroe, but his schedule had been opposite of hers so she hadn’t even run into him. 

He leaned his hip against the counter, talking softly while Maya helped a couple other customers before the evening lull kicked in. He sounded tired, and she wondered if he’d been working late. He had shadows below his eyes, but they were crinkled, smiling down at her so she pushed the thought away and focused on what he was saying. 

He was pulling his phone out of his pocket, rolling his eyes as he glanced down at the screen. 

“Gina,” he said by way of explanation. “I was already running late and I had told her I’d already taken care of the pizza. Apparently people are getting hungry.” 

“Oh,” she said, straightening up. “You’re going to Gina’s?”

He shrugged. “She’s having a party with a few mutual friends tonight, so I’m gonna stop by for a bit.”

It always caught her off guard, how neutral he sounded when he talked about Gina. From what she’d seen of Gina, they all got along great with her. She was friendly and funny and welcoming. She’d even stopped into the pizza shop a couple times since Clarke had started working there and she always tipped well, which gave her a few extra points in Clarke’s head. 

But she and Bellamy never seemed particularly...excited to see one another. They weren’t angry or standoffish, but Clarke couldn’t figure it out. They liked each other, and that’s as far as Clarke had gotten. It was a couple dynamic she was entirely unfamiliar with. 

Maya came over, interrupting her thoughts, a large pizza box in her hands. 

“I believe this is for you,” she said, handing it over to Bellamy. 

He reached over and took it, setting it on a table behind him while he dug through his pockets for a few loose singles that he shoved into the tip jar, smiling at Maya. 

“Oh, Bellamy you don’t--” Clarke blushed, feeling an indescribable weirdness rise up at the thought of Bellamy tipping her. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’ll cover those extra toppings.” 

Maya nodded in approval before moving back down to the other end of the counter. 

“Hey what time do you get off?” Bellamy asked Clarke as he twisted around to grab the pizza off the table again. She glanced over at the clock on the wall and sighed. 

“Not for a few more hours. I’m here until close.”

“Well,” Bellamy said, slowly. “You should stop by the party when you’re done. Have a drink, relax a bit. I’ll text you Gina’s address, okay?”

She opened her mouth to say something--something like no, something about how incredibly weird it would be, about how he didn’t have to invite his sister’s roommate to his girlfriend’s party--but he was already walking toward the door, waving to her. 

“See you later Clarke!” he called as the bell above the door chimed, and he was gone. 

“Wow,” Maya said. “You definitely need to make out with him. Like, yesterday.”

***

She wasn’t going to go to the party. She knew that. 

She like Gina, but she’d much rather go home and lay in bed after standing in front of the oven for seven hours than go to a party where the only people she knew were the couple hosting it. 

She watched her phone buzz on the back counter every few minutes for the last hour and a half of her shift. Maya glanced back at it, her eyebrows raising as she looked at the screen. 

“Bellamy sure wants to talk to you,” she said. 

Clarke just shrugged her off, wiping down the counters instead of answering. 

“ _ This party is lame _ ,” she heard Maya read off of her phone and she whirled around to grab it away from her but Maya kept her at an arm’s length. “ _ They ran out of beer before I got here. I don’t know half the people here. _ ” 

She watched as Maya’s thumb scrolled down, reading more texts out loud as Clarke reached for the phone. 

“ _ Let me know when you get off work, I can pick you up. _ ” She stopped and looked Clarke dead in the eye. “The boy is not subtle. Why haven’t you done anything about this yet?”

“He’s seeing someone,” Clarke said, finally snatching her phone away. “Plus I don’t like him like that, he’s just a friend,” she said quickly, shaking her head. 

“Convincing,” Maya said. 

“Shut up,” Clarke threw a clean rag at her. ‘Go wipe down the tables or something.”

***

She waited until she was back in her dorm, alone, before she texted him back. 

_ Sorry _ , she typed.  _ Major migraine. Just went home after work. Have fun tonight, though. _

It wasn’t until  a few hours later that he answered her. 

_ Bummed you couldn’t make it. Hope you feel better. _

***

**May 2016**

“Clarke!” 

She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and a clumsy body tip into her, nearly knocking her to the ground. She stuck an arm out, grabbing at the lamp post they were standing near to steady them both. She felt Octavia laugh into her ear. 

“Oh my god, Octavia, don’t kill the poor woman,” she heard Harper call, running up behind them. Her graduation gown was billowing backwards, doing nothing to hide the flask in her hand as she stumbled up next to them. She held it out for Clarke, nodding at her to take a drink. 

“Come on,” Octavia said, pushing it toward her lips. “We’ve had enough, we need you to be responsible and take temptation away from us.”

Clarke laughed at that, swinging the flask back and feeling the whiskey burn at her throat. 

“Happy graduation!” Harper slung her arm around the opposite side of Clarke, sandwiching her in between herslef and Octavia. 

“You guys didn’t think you should wait until after the ceremony to start drinking?”

“Where the fun in that?” Octavia asked, tipping the flask back up to Clarke’s mouth. “Come on, Clarke, you used to be able to party better than any of us.”

“That,” Clarke took another drink. “Was never true. I was alway miles behind you.”

“Whatever,” Octavia shrugged. “C’mon, squeeze in. I promised Anya I’d send her a picture of her favorite freshman residents on graduation.”

She pulled them in, arms tangling with one another behind them as she pulled her phone out to snap a picture of the three of them. She and Harper had goofy, wide smiles, cheeks red and flushed next to Clarke. Clarke’s cheeks were being pressed up on either side by Octavia and Harper, pressing their own faces against hers, all three pairs of eyes nearly squeezed shut with the force of their smiles. 

“That’s a good one,” Harper said. “Send it to all of us.”

Octavia nodded as she started clicking away. Then, a few moments later she felt her phone buzz, not once, but several times in her pocket. 

She pulled it out, scrolling through the messages. Octavia had sent the picture to the old group message, the caption  _ graduation babes!! _ in blue underneath it. There were four more messages, from Anya and Raven and Wells and Monroe, all congratulating them, teasing them, telling them not to throw up on stage. 

There was a little grey bubble, typing, underneath it all. A minute passed and it went away. 

“Hey,” Octavia pulled them both into another hug. “We’ve gotta go get our seats but let’s meet up afterwards okay? Right here by this lamp post.” She smacked a kiss onto their cheeks. “Love you, ladies!” And then she tore off, into the crowd to get her seat. 

Clarke laughed with Harper, each of them turning in a different direction to find where they were supposed to go, giving each other an encouraging nod before splitting up. 

When she got to her seat her phone buzzed again. She looked down at it and saw Bellamy’s name in the group message for the first time in months. 

_ Congratulations _ , he’d written.  _ Proud of you _ . 

*** 

**August 2012**

“Anya’s threatening to confiscate all of our booze if we don’t fill out our roommate agreements,” Octavia said, walking into the room. She kicked the door closed with her foot and dropped her bags off just to the side of it. 

Clarke barked out a laugh, pulling herself up and resting against the wall. 

“Alright,” she sighed. “But I think we should drink while we do it so she has less to confiscate if the papers aren’t to her liking.”

Octavia smirked and pulled out the bottle of tequila from her night stand. Then she hopped up on her bed and pounded on the ceiling. 

“Harper!” she yelled and Clarke snorted, falling backwards onto her mattress. She heard Harper pound back against the ceiling before they heard the door above them open and slam shut. 

Harper lived in the single just above them, groaning nearly daily that Anya wasn’t her actual RA, even though she didn’t even have a roommate to worry about. 

“It’s not fair,” she’d said when she found out Anya lived on the floor below her. “You get an RA you’ve known for years, who’s been buying you booze since you turned 17, and I get some slick haired creep who gives me side eyes whenever Monroe spends the night.” 

She didn’t knock before she came into the room, just walked in and over to Octavia side, grabbing a shot glass off her desk and pouring herself a drink before handing the bottle over to Clarke. 

“We going to the house tonight?” She asked them. “I can call Monroe, have her pick us up so we don’t have to walk.”

“Nah,” Octavia jumped up onto her bed, unhooking her bra and throwing it onto the ground. “I don’t feel like going anywhere tonight.”

Clarke nodded, taking a shot of her own before reaching over and passing the bottle to back to Octavia for a second round. 

“Clarke and I have to fill out the roommate agreements for Anya,” Octavia said, gesturing to the papers still untouched on her desk. 

“Oh, excellent,” Harper said, pulling them into her lap and grabbing a pen. “Let me help.” 

Clarke laughed and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts until she got to Bellamy’s name. 

_ Your sister’s a menace, _ she typed.  _ Warn Anya trouble’s coming _ . 

She smiled when she saw his reply a few minutes later. 

_ Message passed along. Inquiry for further explanation refused _ . He sent a second one soon after.  _ Have fun tonight _ . 

“Hey!” she felt a pillow smack into her face and looked up to see Octavia kneeling on her bed, arm extended from chucking the pillow right at her. “Put that phone away! It’s a girls night tonight.” 

Clarke sent a smiley face back and then shoved it in the drawer of her bedside table, arms going up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright,” she grumbled. 

Octavia took a drink straight from the bottle. “That’s the spirit.” 

***

**October 2012**

She heard Bellamy’s voice in the kitchen as soon as she walked in the door. Dropping her bag by her shoes, she gave a wave to Miller and Murphy sitting in the living room as she walked back, pulling out a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water, leaning back against the counter next to Bellamy. Wells sat at the kitchen table, and he gave her a wave and a nod as he listened to Bellamy. 

Bellamy, noticing, turned and saw her there and startled. 

“Hey,” he said, softly. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, really,” she said. “Just wanted to get out of the dorms.” 

“I understand that,” Bellamy said, and Wells scoffed. 

“YOu never lived in a dorm, man,” he said. 

“Whatever,” Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I understand the sentiment.” 

Clarke chuckled, taking a brownie from the plate on the table. She paused before biting into them. “Wait,” she said, eyeing Wells. “Who made these?”

“Not Raven,” Wells assured her. “I did. About an hour ago.”

“Cool.” She bit down and had to keep from moaning at how good it tasted. She offered Wells a feeble thumbs up instead. 

Wells smiled, patting her on the back before standing up and shuffling out into the living room. 

“You okay?” Bellamy asked her when she sat down in his spot. 

“Yeah,” she said, avoiding his eye. “Just been a bad week, is all.” 

He slid into the chair across from her, nudging her with his foot, and she had to take a sip of her water to tamp down the blush she felt coming on at the contact. 

“C’mon, Griffin,” he said, leaning into her. He circled the air around them. “No judgement zone.”

“I just,” she sighed, feeling stupid. “Everyone here knows exactly who they are. I thought college was supposed to be the time you found yourself. I feel like I’m the only one doing that.” She watched as he opened his mouth, to interject or comfort her, to do whatever, but she shook her head. “It’s not even just that. I don’t like it. I was so excited to go to college, to take college classes and I  _ hate _ them. And any time I think about what classes I’d like to try, nothing sounds appealing.”

She stopped for a moment, taking a sip of her water before she carried on. 

“I know I’m lucky to be here, I know not everyone gets to go. But maybe it wasn’t the right thing for me, you know? Not everyone is supposed to go to college. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, solemnly. “You’re barely into your freshman year. You’ve got time.”

“Ugh, I don’t want four more years of  _ this _ , though.” She dropped her head onto the table. 

“You’re taking gen eds right now. They suck. They suck for everyone. Once you start taking classes you like, you’ll feel better about it.”

“I don’t even know what classes I would like though,” she said. “That’s part of the problem.”

“You like art, right?” he asked and her head snapped up. She hadn’t told him that. She hadn’t really told anyone that, she never had. She thought her eyes were playing tricks on her when she caught a glimpse of a blush working its way up his neck. “Octavia mentioned you’ve got sketchbooks and stuff lying around the room.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. I mean it’s a hobby. But I’m terrible.” He looked like he was about to protest but she stopped him. “No, really. It’s not false modesty, or whatever. I love it, I love the colors and painting and how it all makes me feel, but it all looks terrible.”

“Who said art was supposed to look good?”

She laughed, but his face was incredibly serious. 

“Look,” he said. “Give it a little time. Get through this semester, don’t take so many gen eds next semester, and if you feel the same way, then you can talk like this. But it’s too early for you to give up, alright? And who cares if you suck at art, if you like it you should do it.”

She nodded, taking another bite of her brownie. Maybe he was right. She hadn’t touched her paints since she’d gotten to school. She’d been itching to, every night she got home, but she didn’t want to have to hang whatever it was she made up in front of Octavia. It had always been her thing. Just for her, an ugly secret she loved to keep nearby. 

He reached his hand over her open one and gave it a squeeze. 

“Hey, so--” he started but he was cut off by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He sighed, deflating when he read it, and shook his head before turning his attention back to her. “I’ve got to go. You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, surprised to find she meant it. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

He smiled, pulling his coat off the back of the chair before making his way through the living room. She stayed sitting at the kitchen table. 

“Meeting Gina?” he heard Miller ask. She didn’t hear Bellamy’s answer, just Miller’s mumbled, “see you later,” and then footsteps as Wells came back into the kitchen and sat down next to her.

“How long have they been dating?” she asked him. 

“Who Miller and Bellamy?” he said, eyes twinkling. “As far as I know there was just one drunken make out their senior year of high school--”

“Shut up,” she said shoving his shoulder. “You know I meant Bellamy and Gina.”

“Don’t let them hear you say the word ‘dating’ about them,” he said shaking his head. 

“What, they’re not?”

“Not really,” Wells said. “They hang out and stuff, but barely. They get along much better in a group setting. Everything else is just sex to them, as far as I know.”

“So, what, they’re like, casually seeing each other and no one else?” 

It didn’t make sense to her, to have an exclusive fuck buddy. Wasn’t that just dating?

“Easier than finding someone new anytime you want to get laid,” Wells said, popping a chunk of brownie into his mouth. “Might as well stick with someone who knows what you like, right?”

“Huh,” Clarke said. She felt a strange tingling wash over her, but she shook her head, ignoring it. “Yeah, right, I guess.” 

***

**May 2016**

She spotted Bellamy first, his head a few inches above Octavia’s at the lamp post they were supposed to be meeting at. She faltered, tripping over her own feet as she debated whether or not to wait until Harper walked up to them first. Strength in numbers and all that. 

Taking a breath, and a few moments to herself, she decided it was pointless. It was going to be awkward either way. 

“Octavia!” She called, waving as she walked over. She caught Bellamy turning, looking over at her, catching her eye, before turning his head away again. 

Octavia reached out and pulled her into a hug, giggling into her ears. 

“Can you believe it?”

Clarke shook her head. 

“No,” she said. “I really can’t.”

Octavia was talking, words falling out of her mouth at rapid speed, about the ceremony, and the boring speakers, and the ungodly number of ‘honorary graduates’ they had to sit through before the actual graduation. Her attention trailed away from Octavia, landing on Bellamy who was doing his best not to look at her, trying to look casual, like he was only incidentally ignoring her. 

Harper came over, causing another round of squeals, and she and Octavia started talking about something, Clarke stopped paying attention to what. She tried to stop the words as they were coming out, but it was too late when she called his name, feeling it taste foreign on her tongue. 

“Bellamy,” she said, snapping his attention over to her. Octavia and Harper didn’t notice, leaning into one another, their faces still flushed no doubt from drinking during the ceremony. She nodded to a quieter spot, a patch of grass off to the side. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

He nodded, avoiding her eye and she walked over, feeling him follower her with a cushion of a few feet between them. 

“What’s up?” he asked, overly casual. 

“Don’t sell the house,” she said. 

“Clarke.” His arm reached behind his head, rubbing at his neck. “We’ve been over this. I can’t afford--”

“I’ll move in,” she said cutting him off. 

He stared at her, dumbfounded. His mouth was hanging open, his brow creased as he tried to make sense of what she just said. 

She hadn’t even been planning on saying it. She hadn’t thought about it at all before she said it. But it made sense. She had to move out of her apartment, it was on campus, it was student housing only. She didn’t have anything else set up. And she didn’t want him to sell the house. She could pay rent, and he wouldn’t have to sell it. It was perfect. 

“What?” he asked, his voice cracking. 

“I’ll move in. I’ll pay rent,” she said, nodding. “You won’t have to sell it and I won’t have to search for somewhere new to live.”

He waited a few moments, his mouth opening and snapping closed again, twice, three times, before he finally answered. 

“Clarke...I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

But she shook her head, not listening to him. Not wanting to hear him say there was nothing she could do to get him to keep this house. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. 

“Look,” she said, calmer. “I’m really sorry about the other day. I was out of line when I ambushed you in the middle of the open house. I was...upset. I’m sorry.” 

She swallowed. 

“And I know things have been weird between us for a while, and they were bad before that, but--we’ve both grown up a lot since all that. I can handle this. We can handle this. We’ll be fine.”

His eyes were wide and for the first time in a long time she watched a softness creep into his gaze as he stared down at her. 

“I know you don’t want to sell the house,” she whispered, hoping it was the push he needed. Hoping she could pull at something that might not even have been there, after all that time. 

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head, looking like he already regretted it all. She pushed down the twinge of hurt at his expression, focusing instead on feeling triumphant. After four years she finally figured out how to get something done. “Fine. It’s a terrible idea, but what the hell.”

She started to thank him, to tell him to be fine, but he held his hand up, silencing her. 

“Don’t, Clarke,” he said. “Just...call me to let me know when you’re moving in, I guess.” 

She felt her heels sink into the grass as he walked away, and tried to figure out how winning one suddenly felt like losing a whole lot. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**May 2016**

Monty was there already, sitting on the porch, waiting for her when she pulled up into the driveway. She gave him a small wave as she put her car in park and hopped out, walking over to the hood and leaning against it as he came up beside her. He slung an arm around her, pulling her in close, a heavy pat on her back before pulling away. 

“Hey, Clarke,” he said. “Congrats.”

She scrunched her brows up for a moment, confused as to what he could possibly be congratulating her on, there in the driveway with the most disapproving look on his face. Then she remembered, graduation, barely a few days before, and she smiled and shrugged. 

“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Did you already forget?” he teased her, shoving her shoulder. 

She laughed, halfheartedly, running her fingers through her hair. “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” she grumbled. “Shut up.”

He craned his neck back, looking at her car, packed full of boxes and suitcases and bags. She heard a deep sigh whisper between his lips as he brought his cup of coffee up, deflecting. Her fingers tapped on the hood of her car, watching him, waiting for him to just spit it out. 

When he looked over at her, sheepish, she watched his face redden at her raised eyebrow. 

Twisting his lips to the side, considering, he studied her. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the question. Bellamy was the first, actually. When she’d called him two days after graduation, saying she’d started packing up her things and she’d be moved out of her apartment and into the house by the end of the week. Then it was Wells, calling her, trying to pretend it wasn’t about her moving into the house. Not even a full three minutes into the phone call he’d brought it up, overly casual, asking who’s idea it was, hers or Bellamy’s. 

She could practically hear his frown over the phone. 

“ _ And you’re positive that it’s a good idea? _ ” he’d asked her. 

Then it was Raven. And Monroe. Even Murphy. 

Though Murphy’s took the form of one short text. 

_ This wasn’t what I meant when I sent you that picture, _ he’d typed.  _ Let me know when this inevitably ends up in disaster, I’m always down for an excuse to get drunk _ . 

It was disheartening, and exhausting, if not entirely surprising, her friends’ lack of faith in her. Bellamy’s lack of faith in her. And, if she was being honest, her own lack of faith in herself. She’d rehearsed the answer so many times, ten times over between anyone had even asked her if she was sure it was a good idea. So she could come across breezy and confident. Sure of herself. 

Fully behind the idea, unquestioning in her decision. 

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes, avoiding Monty’s stare. “It’s the perfect solution.”

Monty hardly looked convinced. 

“I have to move out of my apartment, I don’t have anywhere else set-up, and no way am I moving back in with my mother.” The words tasted stale on her lips, coming out in rushed, chunky phrases, said one too many times. “And this way Bellamy doesn’t have to sell the house. None of us wanted him to sell it, right?” 

Monty nodded, giving in with a shrug and a wave of his hands. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “But no one else is going to be living here. It’s not like old times, Clarke. It’s just going to be you and Bellamy now. Are you sure…”

“Yes,” she snapped. “I’m sure.” 

She knew it wasn’t going to be like old times. She had months of sulking and awkward text messages to prove it. But she was here, her apartment was empty and her car was packed, and there was no turning back. No matter how many more times she had to sit through the same conversation. 

She’d made her decision. 

Tearing her gaze away from her toes, scrunched up in her sneakers, she looked up at the house and sucked in a breath. It wasn’t bigger, not really. She knew that. But something about it made it feel taller, unfamiliar. 

She turned away and yanked the trunk of her car open. 

“Come on,” she grumbled. “Let’s just move this crap inside.

***

She wasn’t sure exactly what room she’d be taking over, so she and Monty had just worked on hauling the boxes into the living room from the car, first, waiting until Bellamy made some sort of appearance, before moving it where ever she was supposed to go. 

As far as she knew, all the old bedrooms were exactly as the gang had left them, empty and open and ready for human life again. But things were already weird enough with Bellamy, she didn’t want to somehow offend him by taking a room that he was planning on using for something now that he had the chance. 

“Some of the stuff can stay down here,” she told Monty, as they carried the last batch of junk into the house. “There’s kitchen stuff and decorations and whatnot.” She glanced around the living room with its creepy, bare walls. “We can hopefully make this place look like people live here again.”

Monty dropped a box next to her, ignoring everything she was saying in favor of falling down onto the couch, face first. 

“Why,” he said. “Why do you have so much crap.”

“It didn’t seem like that much in my apartment,” she said, shrugging. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d accumulated over the past four years.”

“I should have stayed home with Miller,” Monty groaned, rubbing his arms. “My boyfriend is probably lying naked in bed right now and I’m here, moving eighteen thousand pounds worth of your junk into this house, as if I actually believe you moving in here is a good idea.”

“Glad to have you on board, Monty,” Clarke said, sullen. 

She stood up, searching for the boxed labeled _ kitchen _ . There were only one or two, she didn’t have much from living on her own, but she wasn’t sure what Bellamy had been left with after Miller moved out, so she figured anything she had was better than nothing. 

The first box was mugs and glasses, and she unwrapped them carefully, finding the cupboard she knew they went in, right next to the sink, putting them all on the shelf one by one when she heard Bellamy’s footsteps coming up from the basement. 

“Hey,” he said, sounding surprised. “Thought I heard something.”

“Oh,” she said. He was standing, almost frozen, his hands awkwardly held up in front of his chest like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, and she did her best not to stare at them. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’d be me.”

He stepped forward, tapping his fingers along the counter for a second as if he was all too aware of the silence hanging between them, trying to fill it. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, no doubt looking for an excuse to turn away from her. 

“I would’ve, uh,” he said, voice scratchy. “Helped you move in. If you’d told me you were coming.”

“Oh that’s alright.” She tried not to look too appalled at how high pitched and friendly her voice sounded. “Monty’s here, he’s helping.”

“Reluctantly,” she heard Monty call from the living room, and a small smile crept onto Bellamy’s face. He stepped into the living room quickly, standing just behind the couch. 

“Hey man,” he said, arm going out to grab at Monty. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Monty said. “You too.” 

Clarke kept filing the glasses into the cupboard, slowly, one by one. Breathing in and out with each movement of her hand. She started pressing the newspaper down, flattening the crinkled print with the palms of her hands and folding slowly when his voice was back behind her.

“So,” he said. “I’m still in the basement. You can, uh, pick whatever room you want. I figured you’d probably go for Miller’s old room so I tried to go through and make sure any leftover garbage was cleared out of it for you.”

“Thanks Bellamy,” she said. 

“You want a hand with it?” he asked. 

“No,” she said quickly. “No, Monty and I got it. Thanks, though.”

He nodded, lips pressing together and watched her for a moment longer, before giving one final jerk of his chin and disappearing back into the basement.

“So,” she heard Monty sit up on the couch. “Still think this is a good idea?”

***

He’d vacuumed the room too. She was sure he’d deny it if she asked him, but the marks were still on the carpet when they brought the first round of boxes up. She dropped hers on the ground and grabbed the one Monty was lugging up the stairs, telling him to go grab them both some water while she started unpacking those two, figuring out where to put things. 

She let herself breathe in deeply when she walking back into the freshly cleaned room, feeling a ridiculous surge of  _ something _ , a wet prickling behind her eyelids, and tried to shove it down before Monty came back into the room. 

It was stupid, that she hadn’t really thought it all through until she’d pulled into the driveway with her car full of everything she owned. But for some reason she hadn’t actually considered the fact that moving in meant seeing Bellamy  _ every day _ . Early in the morning over coffee before he went into work, on lazy weekends when they both slept until 11:30 before stumbling into the kitchen to find something to quiet growling stomachs, when he would stumble back home from late shifts or nights out at the bar with Miller. 

Every day.

With bags under his eyes and freshly showered and messy hair. Stretched out on the couch or reading a book at the kitchen table. 

There was a slight possibility she hadn’t thought it all the way through. 

Just moving in with an old friend, she’d told herself, over and over and over again. It made sense. He didn’t want to sell the house and she needed a place to live. And she didn’t want him to sell the house either. 

But her stomach felt like lead and she knew, no matter how much she could never admit it, no matter how much she tried to ignore it and deny it and pretend the worry was all for nothing, she knew it was probably a bad idea. It wasn’t just moving in with an old friend. They were never friends. That’s not ever what they were and they certainly weren’t anything close to friends anymore. 

She wondered exactly what she’d gotten the two of them into now. 

***

She didn’t venture back down to the kitchen until she’d gotten all of her stuff unpacked. 

Miller’s old room was bigger, a lot bigger than her bedroom in her apartment. She reminded herself as she looked around at all the empty space--that even her  _ eighteen thousand pounds of junk _ couldn’t take up--that Miller and Monroe shared the room peacefully for years. It really wasn’t a room built for one person. 

Maybe she should have taken one of the other rooms. But she knew Octavia would want to stay in her old room if she came to visit, and it felt wrong to take Bellamy’s old room. Even if he hadn’t lived there for years by the time she met him. 

Bellamy was leaning against the counter, scrolling through something on his phone, drinking a beer when she finally made her way out of her new room. 

She felt every hair stuck with sweat to her forehead and couldn’t help the wave of embarrassment wash over her at how disheveled she looked. 

He glanced up, giving a small, tight smile when he heard her footsteps come toward him. 

“Beer’s in the fridge if you want one,” he said. 

“Oh,” she said. A cold beer sounded amazing just then, she didn’t care how weird it was to stand there and drink with him. She reached in and grabbed one. He dug through the drawer next to his right leg and grabbed the bottle opener, handing it over to her. “Thanks.”

He just nodded, shrugging, like it was totally normal for her to be there in his--in  _ their _ \--kitchen, drinking a beer with him. 

The silence was strangling her, and after a few swigs of the beer, she decided it wasn’t going to be like this. Not if she was going be living there. 

“Have you been to Miller and Monty’s place?” she asked. 

He set his phone aside, next to him on the counter behind his hip. 

“No,” he said. “Haven’t had a chance yet.”

“It’s,” she swallowed. “Nice. It’s a nice place. I helped them move in, so Monty owed me. That’s why he was here.”

Bellamy nodded. She wondered if he’d had some sort of spring implanted in his neck, rocking it back and forth constantly without his having to think too hard about it. It was pretty much all she’d seen him do since the open house. 

“Cool,” he said.

“Yep,” she said, popping the _ p _ . She held the bottle to her lips for a long moment, trying to think of something, anything else to say, but she came up blank. So she tipped the bottle back and let it wash the awkwardness away, for just a second. 

“Are you still painting?” Bellamy asked. Her gaze snapped up to his before he had a chance to pretend to be looking somewhere else. She felt her ribs tighten at the question, shocked that he even thought to ask. 

“If you can call what I do painting,” Clarke forced a laugh out. 

“Well.” He patted the cabinet behind him awkwardly. “I think the kitchen turned out fine.” 

She turned away from his eyes, feeling the warm prickling again as she stared at the streaky, blotchy paint job on the cabinets. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t redone the cabinets in the three years since she did it. Her finger reached out, stroking a blob of paint she hadn’t quite gotten to before it hardened in a bubble, right at the corner of the cabinet. 

“They’re alright,” she teased. “But I, uh, I haven't really done it in a while. Painting,” she clarified. 

“Oh.”

That was all he said, and his eyes were back on the bottle in his hands. 

She gave a tight, closed lip smile, hoping that he couldn’t see the redness spotting across her cheeks. She held her bottle up in some weird, awkward salute. 

“Think I’m just going to turn in early,” she whispered. 

“Man we really have come a long way,” he said. It was back. The overly casual tone. The deliberate teasing. “Clarke party girl Griffin going to bed before eleven o'clock.”

She laughed, short and rough sounding before turning around and making her way back to her bedroom. 

She wished it made her feel better, the pokes, the prods, the teasing. Like maybe they weren’t so far away from where they used to be. Like they could probably bridge the gap if they just tried a little harder. Spoke a little longer than two minutes at a time. Teased each other just a little bit more. 

But the flat sound of his voice and the way his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers showed her that they were farther away from each other than ever. 

She felt a hot tear drip down onto her cheek and she swatted it away before she had to think too hard about what it meant. 

***

**December 2012**

“Who’s driving us again?” Clarke asked, digging through her drawers finding something to wear. 

“Uh,” Monty hummed. He was standing in front of her mirror, fixing his hair. “Don’t remember his name. Some senior, the vice president of the club, I think.” 

She met Monty three weeks into the semester. She’d dragged Monroe along with her to the first LGBTA club meeting--she would have taken Harper, who was actually a student at the school unlike Monroe, but she’d had volleyball practice the same nights the club met. 

“I don’t know anyone else,” she’d groaned when Monroe had argued that she couldn’t go to a club for a school she didn’t even go to. 

“Miller’s gay,” Monroe said. “Bellamy’s pan. Wells isn’t  _ into labels _ but he’s...very equal opportunity”

“And none of them go to my school either,” Clarke countered. 

Monroe had sighed and given in, just like Clarke knew she would. It wasn’t that she had a problem going to the club, she knew that wasn’t the issue. She just felt weird, invading a space for students when she wasn’t one. Clarke assured her no one would care. And if they did, she didn’t really want to be a part of the club anyway. So they’d gone and awkwardly sat in the back. 

While introductions were made when Monty slid into the seat next to her. 

“Hey,” he’d said, holding his hand out. “I’m Monty.” 

He was a freshman too, didn’t have anyone to go to the meeting with him, and when he’d seen the two of them sitting in the back he figured they were his best bet.

“Seems kind of cliquey,” he’d said, sounding discouraged. “I didn’t realize so many people would already know each other.” 

It was true. They’d walked in and saw five different clumps of people, all happy and friendly, but clearly already friends and it wasn’t quite as easy to jump right in as she’d thought it would be. She was relieved that Monty had come over, plopped down and jumped right in. And it was nice, finding another bi friend. There weren’t a lot in the club, surprisingly. Harper and Monroe and Miller were all gay. Not that they didn’t get it, but it was nice to have someone who _ really _ got it. 

After that they’d started grabbing dinner together, usually snagging free pizza from Clarke’s shop, before they went to the meetings together. 

It was the first club outing they were going to. A gay club downtown. Clarke wasn’t really sure if a school funded club was allowed to take them to a gay bar, but she didn’t bother to question it. She’d been looking forward to it all week, and now, looking through her drawers, she realized she had just about nothing to wear to a club. 

“Alright,” she said, holding her hands up. “This is hopeless.”

“Where’s Octavia?” Monty asked. “I’m sure she’d have something you could borrow.”

Clarke considered for a moment. Shrugging she grabbed her phone and texted Octavia. 

_ My wardrobe is embarrassingly lacking. Can I raid your closet? _

She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing exactly what it would be, and she just moved over to the other half of the room and started flipping through her roommate's closet. 

It took another ten minutes for her to find something of Octavia’s that would fit her--Octavia’s clothes were almost exclusively tailored to her shape exactly, and that certainly wasn’t the shape of Clarke’s body--but she found something eventually. A sparkly gold tank top that she could pair with a pair of leggings. She turned to Monty, holding her arms out. 

“Well?” she asked. 

“Damn,” he whistled. “Okay. Let’s start drinking.”

***

They were drunk by the time they got to the club. Warm and giggling and feeling good. Ready. 

She was grateful some of the seniors had decided to drive the upperclassman. Steve or Stan--she couldn’t remember--seemed nice. Happy to help the little guys. Told them it was his favorite club, and it wasn’t too far off campus. 

She expected it to be dirtier when they got there. Grimy, like she pictured all clubs in her head. But it wasn’t. There was the distinct smell of alcohol and sweat, but the air felt open when she breathed it in.

She held her hand out as it was stamped, tucking her ID back into her pocket, pulling Monty in behind her by the wrist. 

“C’mon,” she said to him. “I want to dance.” 

She pushed her way through the crowd, feeling the bodies moving around her, bumping into her, catching an elbow or a shoulder with every step she took. She dropped her hand from Monty’s wrist, lifting her arms above her head and felt it, the beat pushing her from side to side, her already warm skin flushing from the heat of those around her. 

Monty followed moments after her, stepping into the space next to her, his body bumping her awkwardly in time to the music whenever anyone brushed by, forcing them to squeeze together. 

He was laughing at her she was sure, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her arms moving on their own, her hips swaying back and forth. She didn’t care how it looked. Good or silly or sexy or ridiculous. She smiled, feeling her eyes slip shut for a moment in the thick of it all. It felt good. 

When she opened her eyes again, there was a man standing a few feet away from her. A tight black tank top clung to his chest, his arms tanned and shining with sweat. She only caught glimpses of him, through the sea of people moving between them, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. They were rooted to the spot where he stood. 

She felt Monty’s arm at her elbow. 

“I’m going to get some water,” he yelled into her ear, trying make her hear him over the pounding of the music. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, still moving with the music, waving him off with a hand. 

She looked back and the man was gone. 

She tried not to pout. It wasn’t like she’d been dancing with him, but. Still. It was something. Maybe she’d have gone over there. 

A broad chest was in front of her, brown and gleaming, a familiar black tank top pulled tight over it, clinging to it with sweat. She reaches her arms out automatically, pulling him into dance with her, feeling his body press up against hers, her arms wrapping around his neck. She felt his chest shake with laughter. 

“Hey.” His breath warmed her ear and she had to suppress a shiver at the tickle of his word trailing down her neck. She looked up, meeting his eyes and nearly stumbled back. 

“Bellamy,” she said. Her voice was low and gravely. Dry. She realized just how dehydrated she was, her mouth going dry at the sight of him. His hair was sticking to his forehead in sweaty clumps, his normal wild curls hanging limp. Dark eyeliner made his eyes stand out, boring into her own, and she couldn’t look away. 

There was a smearing of gold and purple glitter across his cheekbones and she felt her hand go up to his face, her thumb swiping across it, feeling the slick skin beneath the pad of her thumb. She brought it back to her own face, wiping the small bits of glitter she’d gathered against her own cheek. 

He let out a deep, full laugh at that, watching with dark eyes as the glitter from his own cheeks clung to the skin on her face. 

“Looks good,” he said. 

She smiled in response, pulling him closer and turning around. She pressed her back into his chest, her arms dangling behind her, holding him there, against her as they danced. She could barely hear the music with him so close, only the pounding of her blood thrumming through her veins, only the ragged breathing between the two of them.  

She didn’t notice when the song changed, when the people around her shifted, when Monty came back to stand by them, a skinny blonde haired boy trying to dance with him. She didn’t notice how thirsty or sweaty she was anymore. 

She felt Bellamy’s hands resting on her hips and the rest of it all faded away. 

She didn’t know how long they were there when he leaned back down, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke to her. 

“Miller’s on his way,” he said. “Want a ride?”

“I came with Monty,” she said, breathless, nodding to Monty over to their right. 

Bellamy shrugged, pulling her in closer. “He can come too.”

“Okay,” she said, moving against him. “Sure.” 

“Okay,” he mimicked her. His hands laid flat against her hips, his palms warming her, his fingers tightening, pulling her in though she wasn’t sure she could move any closer. She tipped her head back onto his shoulder and waited for Miller to get there and bring them home. 

*** 

Monty collapsed onto the couch as soon as they walked through the door. Miller snorted, going into the kitchen to get a glass of water and a few advil to leave on the table for him when he woke up. 

He shrugged at their suggestive looks, shoving Bellamy’s shoulder before nodding to Clarke with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Well,” he said. “I’m going to bed.” And then he was walking up the stairs, a last look shot over to Monty, spread across the couch, a small chuckle falling out of him with every step he took. 

“C’mon,” Bellamy said, pulling Clarke’s hand into his. He started walking toward the basement door. “No one has the capacity to blow up the air mattress right now.” 

He was warm when he slid in the bed beside her. He’d stripped down to just a pair of sweatpants, his shirt discarded on the floor beside the mattress. He shuffled around left arm curling under the pillow, his head resting on it but facing her. She felt herself scoot closer before she knew what she was doing. 

“Where was Gina tonight?” she asked softly. She’d put the thought out of her head at the club, his body warm against hers, making her forget everything.

His face scrunched up a bit at the question. 

“We, uh, stopped seeing each other. A while ago, actually,” he said. “It was pretty casual anyway. She started seeing someone else from work.” 

“Oh,” Clarke whispered. “Are you sad?”

His finger was trailing up the inside of her arm, causing a shiver to shoot through her. She steadied her breathing, ignoring the goosebumps that followed the pad of his finger. 

“No,” he laughed. His face was closer than she remembered it being. She could feel his breath wash over her face, warm and stale. “No I’m not sad.”

She felt a breath of relief slip past her lips. Relief about what she couldn’t figure out, not with him so close. And then before she had time to work it through, he was closer, the fingers trailing up her arm gripping, pulling her in, coming up to rest on her neck, tangling in her hair.

His lips were on hers before she could let out another breath and she melted, right into him, his arm wrapped around her. 

*** 

He was gone when she woke up. A note on the chair next to the bed letting her know he’d had to get up early, go into work. 

She tried to put it out of her mind as she got up and washed her face. She borrowed a t-shirt from his drawer, not having time to run back to her dorm to change before work. 

Maya raised an eyebrow at the oversized shirt when she walked into the shop, but Clarke just shook her head. 

She tried to put it out of her head for the five hours she stood behind the counter, ignoring how she could practically still feel him, up against her, pulling her in close, all day long. 

The bell above the door jingled ten minutes before her shift was over and she looked up to see Bellamy walking in, smiling as he sauntered up to the counter to greet her. 

“Octavia told me you were working,” he said. “Everyone’s at my place, I figured I’d come give you a ride over when your shift was done.” 

“Cool,” she said, grinning. She wondered if she should bring it up, the night before. “Thanks.” 

He was looking at her carefully, a funny smile on his face. 

“Nice shirt,” he said, smug. 

“Shut up.” She tossed a slump of cheese at him. “I didn’t have time to go home before I got here.”

“No,” he said laughing. “It looks good.” 

She rolled her eyes, wiping down the counter, hoping he couldn’t see her blush. 

“I’m off in ten minutes,” she said. 

“Take your time.” He sat at the table closest to the counter. “I’ll be here.” 

*** 

They’d stopped at her dorm before going back over to the house, Bellamy hanging awkwardly in her dorm room as she showered the smell of pizza off her and changed. 

When they walked through the door Monroe was on the ground in front of the couch, painting Miller's toenails and Murphy was off to the side, blowing to dry his own fingernails. 

“Bellamy!” she called to him when she heard him walk through. “You’re next. Then you, Clarke.” 

The air smelled like pancakes and french toast and when she wandered into the kitchen she saw Wells, standing over the stove, a stack of breakfast foods piled high next to his side. 

It was all very normal, she thought. Nothing unusual, nothing different. Wells brought the food out, a plate of bacon added to it all about ten minutes later and she was nibbling on the end of a piece when Harper barreled through, dropping a kiss on Monroe’s lips before grabbing a beer from the fridge. 

“Beer and breakfast food,” Murphy said, a mouthful of french toast. “What could be better.”

Bellamy laughed, dropping down on the couch next to Clarke. He wasn’t overly touchy, barely any different at all, Clarke found. He was just an inch closer than normal, his thigh pressed into hers. 

She wondered if he was embarassed. Or if maybe he thought she was embarrassed. 

Or if maybe he was just waiting until they were alone to tell her it wasn’t what she thought. There was a reason he was casual with Gina after all. 

It wasn’t until later, when everyone had gone to bed except the two of them, standing awkwardly in the kitchen, cleaning up, that she mustered up the courage to say something. 

“So,” she said. Casual. Breezy. “You and Gina broke up.” 

“Yeah,” he said slowly, an eyebrow lifting as he glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye. “If you can call it a break up when you were never actually dating in the first place.” 

“Are you…” She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. 

“Oh yeah.” His voice was light, teasing. “Utterly crushed.”

He tossed the towel down on the counter, the last dish cleaned and wiped dry. Then he turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“So,” he said. “Semesters practically over. Any headway on figuring out what you want?” 

He probably didn’t mean it as an opening. Probably just wanted to know her plans for school. But she’d been itching and twitchy and blushing all day and she wasn’t going to give up the chance when it was standing, smirking, right in front of her. 

“Actually,” she said, stepping forward. “Yes.”

She pushed herself up on her toes, her hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him in closer as her lips brushed against his, hesitant. Waiting. 

He barely moved. Dipped his head down to meet her, and froze. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” she promised against his lips. She pressed closer again, his lips rough and chapped under hers, and she brushed her tongue across them. 

It was a moment, but he moaned, his arms wrapping around her waist, tightly, keeping her there against him. She smiled into it and let her hands roam up from the collar of his shirt to his neck, then threading her fingers into his hair. 

It felt like barely a moment before he broke apart and she looked up at him, questioning. His grip on her only tightened, and he nodded toward the basement. There was a question in his eyes, and uncertainty, and she felt her fingers spread over his cheeks, smoothing down the lines at the corner of his eyes, before she dropped her hand down to his. 

Then she gave his arm a tug, walking toward the basement door, laughing at the smile on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

**June 2016**

Clarke was in the kitchen, trying to make some sort of dinner out of the scraps and odds and ends left in the refrigerator when she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket. Then again. 

She stared down hopelessly at the bowl of shredded chicken--leftover from some paninis Wells had made a few days earlier when he came over for dinner--and wondered if there was some pesto hidden away, another hidden treat from Wells she hoped, when the phone buzzed again. 

Grumbling she pulled it out of her back pocket. 

**_Murphy: So how’s your terrible plan going?_ **

**_Murphy: Crash and burn yet?_ **

**_Murphy: Did it all fall apart in some weird murder suicide? Is that why you’re not answering?_ **

Clarke rolled her eyes. It seemed to be the only thing her friends were asking her about these days. A month she’d lived there, a month with nothing going wrong, a month of fine, cordial politeness, without any disasters. She kept having them over for dinner as proof. _ Look how well adjusted we are. Look at how we can sit at the same table and eat our dinner without the plates spontaneously bursting into flames. Have a little faith in my now, don’t you? _

**_Clarke: There was never a plan._ **

**_Clarke: And I wasn’t answering you because I don’t want to encourage you_ ** _.  _

Murphy responded immediately and Clarke squeezed her eyes shut wondering if she should even bother glancing at it. She was pretty sure she knew what it said anyway. 

**_Murphy: ‘There was never a plan.’ OKAY._ **

**_Clarke: I’m ignoring you now. I’m off to make a lovely dinner in my lovely home and eat it while sitting on my lovely couch in my lovely living room. No plans anywhere in sight._ **

She sighed and pulled the cheese out of the fridge. And the mayo. It felt like defeat, spreading it on the bread and throwing some chicken on top, pressing a slice onto the top. 

She knew exactly what Murphy was trying to say. That moving into the house was part of some great long, convoluted scheme to get back together with Bellamy. If together was what they ever were. She’s not sure waking up in the morning to a kiss and a distinct avoidance of a serious conversation or distinction about what they actually were counts as being together. Maybe Murphy thought it was her plan to finally get together with him. 

Like she’d been pining for three years. Wasn’t that just pathetic.

Though she could admit, it really did look like that from the outside. 

She didn’t date much, after it all. She went on a few random dates, but they always seemed sort of boring. Like she’d rather be doing anything you could think of to do on a first date with her friends instead of whatever semi-stranger was sitting across from her. 

She still went out with Monty and other friends from the club every now and then, but Miller started tagging along with Monty and Monroe started dragging Harper and it started to feel much more like fifth wheeling than going out with friends, so even that trickled out after a while. 

She’d still come by the house, all the time. Bellamy was hardly there when she was free anyway because of his work schedule--another thing that made it impossible to actually say they were  _ together _ , even when they were together. So it wasn’t bad. She’d come by, hang out with Raven and Murphy and Wells, Bellamy would come home and she would leave. 

So she could see. How from the outside it looked like she was pining. When after three years of not-really dating, and only facing him in group setting, she randomly decided to move in with him. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t pining. And there was no plan. 

**_Murphy: You know, not having a plan almost makes this whole thing worse. Like your subconscious had the plan and you didn’t even realize you were going along with it._ **

**_Clarke: There’s NO plan, Murphy._ **

**_Murphy: You’re just obviously still in love with him and it’s all going to end in disaster, but it’s fine. No big deal. Happens to all of us._ **

It was the  _ still _ in that text that caught her off guard. Made her blood run cold as she read it, an icy chill trickling down her like she’d just gotten some horrible news she couldn’t avoid. Like she was diagnosed with a disease. Just ran over a puppy with her car. Something awful and irreversible that she was entirely unequipped to deal with, but had to anyway. 

**_Clarke: I’m not still in love with him._ **

She grabbed her phone and typed a second message out quickly, cursing herself. 

**_Clarke: I never WAS in love with him._ **

**_Clarke: We just messed around._ **

**_Clarke: Why are we even talking about this? It was three years ago._ **

It was three years ago. It was three years ago. 

How many times a day did she have to remind herself of that?

Three years was too long for things to still be so weird. She wasn’t sure what the rule was on getting over people who were never actually  _ yours _ , but she figured three years was far past the line. One year was probably too far past the line. Three years was just...she didn’t know what it was. Not normal. Not healthy. 

She thought about Gina, coming over to the house even after she and Bellamy broke up. How long did it take? One week? Two? She even brought her new boyfriend over with her. And it wasn’t weird. Why wasn’t it ever weird?

She thought about the way Bellamy looked at her when she came down into the kitchen every morning, sleep still clinging to his eyes as he sipped at the coffee in front of him. A small smile for her when she walked in before turning away and not looking back until the mug was empty and his eyes were clear. 

How the one small smile, the accidental affection he showed every time he was too tired to remember what they were, was her favorite part of the day. 

She wondered how many more days until the smile lasted past the first sip from the pot. 

She glanced at the clock. 8:29. At least another hour until Bellamy got home. She took a bite of her sandwich and wondered if one month was too late to have the conversation they should have had at the open house. Or graduation. If she should just let it be until it worked itself out naturally, or if she should bite the bullet. 

**_Murphy: Exactly. Three years, Clarke._ **

***

**February 2013**

“Have you gotten a hold of anybody yet?”

Octavia had a mouth full of potato chips when she asked her, plopping down onto the couch next to Clarke. Her hair was piled in a messy bun and she was still wearing the pajamas she’d had on when the scratching woke her up. 

Clarke pressed the speaker button and held her phone up. 

_ “--is unavailable at this time. Normal business hours for this office are between nine and four, Mondays through Fridays.” _

Clarke groaned, dropping her head back onto the cushion. It was the sixth office they’d called. 

“Isn’t there supposed to be twenty four hour help on campus? Why the fuck do all the offices close at four?” Octavia asked. 

“Just to torture us I think, actually,” Clarke said. 

She pulled her legs up underneath her, tucking her toes between the cushion and the arm of the couch. She too, was still wearing her pajamas, no other clothes packed in her bag except a clean pair of underwear she’d thrown in her purse for morning. She felt her eyelids drooping and Octavia’s foot poking her, asking her to find the air mattress and pump before they fell asleep on top of each other on the couch, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

She was sure she drifted off for a few minutes when she felt a hand brush her neck, tucking her hair away from her face and behind her ear. 

“Hey,” she said. She blushed immediately at how low and gravely her voice sounded through the dopey smile she was sure was on her face. She wanted to be embarrassed by it, she really did, but it was two in the morning and they’d walked over from the dorms and she couldn’t bring herself to care, so she smiled up at the face attached to the hand, her own fingers reaching out to hold it in place. 

“Well hey there,” Bellamy said smiling down at her. “What brings you two here at two a.m?”

“Did you just get home?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “C’mon. Let Octavia stretch out.”

He pulled her up from the couch, dropping a blanket over Octavia as she stretched her legs, only partially awake as she twisted her arms under the pillow. 

“Rats,” she told him as they walk toward the basement.

“What?”

She must not have been speaking in full thoughts. Her brain was muddled by exhaustion and him and it was blocking the passage of full complete thoughts from her brain to her lips. 

“In the wall,” she said, getting closer to it. “We have rats in our wall.”

“Rats?”

“Yup,” she yawned. “Scratching and running and chewing holes by our beds. Rats.”

She was at the bed before she’d even realized they’d walked downstairs. Bellamy pressed in close behind her, pulling her tight against his chest, his arm draping over her stomach.

It wasn’t new, by any means. But it never started like that, a tender sleepy walk toward the mattress. Usually there was something else. The staying over, the cuddling in bed only an after product of some other, bigger event. Not since the first time, when they’d all been too drunk to leave and he shared the bed because the couch hurt his back, had they just fallen in, just to be close, just to sleep. It was nice. 

She smiled into the warm skin of his arm and she felt him hold her even tighter. He smelled like smoke and wood and fresh night air.

“I’m sorry about the rats,” she thought she heard him say. She was too close to sleep to know. “But I’m happy you’re here.”

***

“Alright,” Raven sat on the coffee table in front of her. “You’ve been taking turns calling all day. It’s past five. We’re turning this into a drinking game now.” 

“Excuse me?” Clarke asked. 

“I’m bored,” she shrugged. “You’re bored. Octavia’s bored. Everyone in here is bored because you’re keeping the phone on speaker so you can both hear it so we can’t turn the TV on.”

It was true. She’d felt like her eyes had melted back into her head, just for something to do. 

Bellamy was gone when she woke up that morning, unsurprisingly. He had work to go to, and he never woke her up when he left. She rubbed her eyes feeling suddenly cold when she woke up, and found one of his sweatshirts, her favorite of his, dark maroon and worn soft, folded up neatly on his side of the bed. 

She’d tugged it on over her sleep shirt and wandered upstairs where Wells had been standing over the stove--where he always seemed to be--making the most delicious smelling pancakes of all time. 

There was a full pot of coffee and she figured a lazy day in the house with coffee and pancakes and Wells was better than a lazy day in the dorms with the rats, so she’d stayed, convincing Octavia that they could try to get a hold of the residence office while they hung out. 

They’d  had hours of the same message, of people transferring them to different offices only to be transferred back right where they started three legs into the call. It was exhausting and boring and honestly, Clarke was ready for anything Raven had come up with to make it more interesting. 

“Hit me with it,” she said. 

“Every time they ask you to explain the problem again, we drink,” Raven said. “Every time they transfer you to another office, we drink. They transfer you to an office that plays the out of office message, we drink twice. And whatever other rules we think of along the way.”

“We’re going to need a lot of alcohol for that,” Clarke laughed. 

Octavia slammed a bottle of whisky down on the table and draped herself across the armchair next to Clarke. 

“Got it covered,”  she winked. 

***

They didn’t actually need any extra rules, as it turned out. 

When Bellamy walked through the door at 9:30 Clarke was light and warm, laughter bubbling out of her every few moments without being able to help it. 

Bellamy sat right next to her when he came back over. Freshly changed and smelling like new deodorant over a light layer of sweat. His left leg pressed into her, the soft of his thigh squishing against her knees so she pulled her feet out from under her and draped her legs across his. 

The back cushion of the couch was pressed down from the weight she and Raven had been pressing into it all night. Her right arm was slung over it, dangling so her fingers could reach out and play with Bellamy’s hair. Which she did. 

He looked over at her, beaming, when her fingers tangled themselves in the roots of his hair. 

They normally didn’t do that. Touch. Cuddle. Beam at each other. Look like that, like they could fall into each other right then and there. Not in front of people. 

Not that they hid it. It wasn’t a secret, that they were sleeping together. She was pretty sure that everybody knew. No one raised an eyebrow when she went to his room at night or left in the morning, or wore his clothes or knew his schedule or came over late at night to wait until he got home from work. No one thought it was strange, and so, she figured, they must know. So they didn’t try to hide it. 

They made plans in front of the others, they snuck off in front of the others. Once he even kissed her goodbye in front of them. Sometimes they bought each others drinks. 

It wasn’t a secret. 

But it wasn’t something they worried about when they were with their other friends. The didn’t cuddle, they didn’t hold hands, they didn’t watch each other with wide, googly eyes, none of that. They were friends, close, but not a couple. Just friends who fell into bed together at night. And then they woke up together in the mornings and kept on being friends. 

She couldn’t help it though, as her right hand weaved its way through his unruly hair. It was thick and a little greasy, he obviously hadn’t showed after he got home from work. Just threw on some different clothes and came to sit beside her. 

He leaned his head into her touch a bit, eyes crinkling at the corners. She felt him readjust against the cushions, leaning forward until his head was nearly touching hers. 

“Someone’s in a good mood tonight,” he murmured. 

She hiccuped, shoving at his shoulder when he laughed. 

“It’s the rats!” she said proudly, grateful that the glass in her left hand was empty as she swung it. 

He plucked the glass from her hand and set it on the table. 

“The rats?”  he said, still catching up. “We’re...happy about the rats now?”

“The rats are the game!” Raven yelled from the floor. She had pillows and blankets all around her, the coffee table pushed off to the side of the room so she could take up the center. 

“We call about the rats, they send us somewhere else we drink!” Octavia’s drink was dripping down onto the carpet and Clarke giggled, pointing at it before she heard Octavia whisper a quick  _ oops _ , downing her drink in one go. “And on and on and on!”

“Huh,” Bellamy said. His hand reached out and pushed away the hair that had fallen around Clarke’s face. “Not the reason I would’ve wanted to hear you’re in a good mood. But,” he picked up the bottle and poured himself a drink in Clarke’s discarded glass. “To the rats.”

She watched as the heat crept up into his cheeks after a couple drinks, let her fingers press against his warm cheeks as he watched her, smiling, leaning into the touch. 

It was good, she thought. That it wasn’t a secret. She was sure that if it was, anyone would be able to see it then, the two of them pressed together on that couch. 

It was good it wasn’t a secret. 

***

He was digging through his drawers looking for a tshirt for her to wear. Her other shirt smelled of the spilled whisky and potato chips and it was giving her a headache as she came down from the night. 

“Thank you,” she told him softly as he pressed it into her hands. It was thin and grey, letting her skin breathe as she pulled it over her head. As she pulled it over her head, a chunk of hair shifted, in front of her face, blinding her as the fabric sealed it in. When she blew out, hoping to blow the hair out of her face, she forgot for a moment that she was chewing gum, and it sailed into the bit of hair, tangling with the strands. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, tugging the shirt down. It fell long on her, to her mid thigh. It felt good against her bare legs. 

She yanked hard at the sticky piece of gum, feeling silly like a five year old or a cartoon monkey, pulling random bits out of his mate’s fur. The silliness only made her more frustrated. Ridiculous. She just wanted to sleep. And she was pretty sure she was only making it worse. 

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy asked. 

“Nothing,” she huffed. She yanked harder at the gum, watching it spread instead of separate. 

She felt his hands rest on top of hers. 

“Hold on,” he said. “Sit on the bed I’ll be right back.”

She padded over to the bed, curling her legs under her as she perched on the end and waited for him to come back. She heard his footsteps a minute later, coming down the stairs, small wash cloth, a liquid measuring cup and half a lemon in his hands. 

“To help dissolve it,” he said in explanation. She watched him squeeze the lemon juices into the cup and then, grabbing the chunk of hair, pouring a bit over the clump of gum. 

His fingers pressed into it after a few moments, working the gum away from the hair, slowly, bit by bit. 

“How’d you learn to do this?” she asked. 

“Well,” he said, voice sounding a bit strange. “I...work at a hair salon actually.”

She turned to face him, her cheek bumping into his hands in her hair. 

“I thought you worked as a trainer,” she said. “At a gym.”

“I do,” he shrugged. “I’ve got two jobs, remember?” 

He picked up the washcloth and walked to the bathroom sink, wetting it down before bringing it back and rubbing the strands of sticky hair between it. Getting out all the residue. 

“Did Octavia’s hair so much growing up,” he continued on. “I got pretty good at it. Figured I might as well get paid for it.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “You probably give good scalp massages when you wash people’s hair.”

“I do,” he laughed. “Maybe you’ll get one someday.”

The wrinkled lemon half was in the cup, the washcloth thrown over it as he set it on the dresser and came back over to the bed and crawled under the blanket next to her. 

Her hands reached out for him automatically and he didn’t pull away. Just moved closer, his head brushing against her shoulder, his lips rough and chapped against her skin. 

“You should get some rest,” he said. His breath felt cool and minty, and she realized she’d forgotten to brush her teeth. She wanted to kiss him anyway. 

He pulled away after a moment, his thumb replacing his lips against hers. 

“You should get some rest,” he said again.

She wondered if he’d be there when she woke up, or if she’d spend the morning in his shirt, drinking coffee across from Wells at the table again. 

***

**June 2016**

“We should talk about it.”

Bellamy looked up from his book, startled. 

She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall, watching him. His glasses were slipping low on his nose, small little red marks at the bridge where they’d been pressing into his skin all day. 

“Talk about what?”

His voice was light. Empty. Just the way she was sure she had sounded for the past month. Like nothing was wrong, like nothing meant anything, like she couldn't even think of a reason to be upset. Like it wasn’t a house full of memories surrounding them, but a new, clean environment. Like they were strangers who knew nothing about each other, getting used to each other. 

Instead of what they were. 

She plastered a smile on her face. Like it didn’t give her chest a deep ache, like it didn’t feel like her ribs were pressing in on each other to hear him pretend. Pretend it was all nothing. Something he could forget in a moment while she was still thinking about it three years later. 

“Bellamy.” She was tired. “Come on.”

He closed his book. It was a step she thought, at least. Letting her know he’d at least listen to her. Tentatively, she took a step toward the couch. He crossed his legs, back pressing into the arm of the couch and she sat, mirroring him, on the other end. 

“It feels weird in here without all of Monroe’s crazy posters,” she laughed. “Not many of the changes in my life ever make me feel like I’m growing up. Graduation didn’t. But sitting here, looking at the walls without Monroe’s posters plastered all over them, I suddenly feel much older than I am. Is that crazy?”

“No,” he said. “No, I know exactly what you mean.” 

Small. Small, simple, steps. She took a breath. It was going to work. 

“I think I spent more time here than in my dorm freshman year,” she said. She didn’t think that. She knew it. Bellamy’s bed was far more comfortable than the dorm room mattress. There wasn’t really a point to staying in the room when she had the chance to stay there. “And my sophomore year too, honestly.” 

Bellamy nodded and she saw the whisper of a smile on his lips. 

“Is that how this whole thing is going to go?” She nudged him with her foot. “I say something and you nod and avoid my eye?”

He didn’t say anything. But he brought his head up, meeting her eyes, finally. 

“We were friends, right?” she asked. “Bellamy, come on. We were friends. This doesn’t have to be weird.”

“Alright,” he said. “Yeah, let’s talk about it.”

She bit the inside of her lip, considering. After a moment she decide just to go for it. To jump right in without beating around the bush. 

“We used to sleep together,” she said quickly. “Then we stopped.”

Bellamy snorted a bit at that. “That might be over simplifying things a bit.”

“And when we stopped,” she carried on ignoring him. She had to ignore that bit. She couldn’t let herself think about what it meant. Not if they were going to have this conversation to get over things. Not if they were going to be friends after this. “We let it get weird when we shouldn’t have. All that animosity and distance. We didn’t need to do that. We were friends before, we should have been able to be friends afterwards.”

“Clarke--”

“I want to be your friend again,” she said. Her voice felt small. Shrunken down until it was barely there at all. “Do you want to be mine?”

That’s what it had to be. That one question. 

She’d been asking herself that same question for three years. Whenever they were in a room full of people and they’d accidentally sit next to each other, accidentally catch each other’s eye after a joke or a story. She wanted to be friends with him. 

Didn’t she?

He didn’t answer right away. 

“Yeah, Clarke,” he said when he finally spoke. “I want to be your friend.”

“Yeah?” she asked. It shouldn’t make her feel like that to hear him say it. A mixture of relief and something else, something sadder or something nostalgic that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Okay, good.” 

It felt like a promise, at least. To try a little more. To be there a little more. 

“We should toast,” she said, standing to get a drink. “What booze do we have around here?” 

He followed her into the kitchen and pulled a couple beers out of the fridge. 

“Murphy raided the liquor when he came over last,” he said handing her a bottle. He dug out the bottle opener and popped the caps off in turn. “Apparently he forgot to say that all the booze that was here was  _ his _ , and he’d just forgotten to bring it with him when he packed up.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course it was.”

She held her bottle up to his, waiting for him to clink against it. 

“Either way,” she said. “To new beginnings.”

He pressed his lips together as he tapped the neck of his bottle against hers. He paused, with it just a breath away from his mouth before he said it back. 

“To new beginnings.” 

She watched as his lips wrapped around the bottle and forced her eyes down to her toes. 

It was strange, being there, in that kitchen with him and a couple beers. Like she was right back where she started with him. Toasting with no direction. Making a new friend. But that’s what she wanted. That’s what it all was supposed to be. 

And he was there, some sort of stabling force in it all.

It was like stepping back four years. Stepping back four years and knowing just a little bit too much. 

She tipped the bottle back and let it run down her throat. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**July 2016**

Clarke looked around the cafe, searching for Raven. She was sitting in a corner at a high table, her feet dangling down from the stool she was perched, already biting into what looked like a turkey club. Clarke pushed her way through the crowd, making her way over to Raven and dropped her purse on the opposite stool. She pulled her wallet out. 

“Nice of you to wait for me,” Clarke said. 

“You were twenty minutes late,” Raven shrugged. “And I didn’t eat breakfast today. I was starving.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. She held up a finger and made her way over to the counter, picking out the first sandwich on the board and ordering an iced tea to go with it. 

It wasn’t her fault she was late. 

Bellamy, who was trying to get the house nice for Octavia’s visit that afternoon, was cooking when she was getting ready, and when she’d finally wandered downstairs to slip her shoes on and be on her way, she was greeted with the smell of burning chicken and a wall of smoke as she walked into the kitchen. 

“What the hell is happening in here?” she’d yelled over the fire alarm. 

He was standing on a chair, waving the broom next to the alarm to get it to stop so she’d run over to the stove to pull the pan off of the burner. 

“You didn’t think to maybe remove the burning thing from the surface it was burning on  _ before _ swinging the broom around like a lunatic?”

“I made a snap decision!” Bellamy said. 

The alarm had finally stopped and Bellamy hopped down from the chair, awkwardly resting the broom against the kitchen table. He ran his hand over the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous or embarassed and Clarke couldn’t keep in the bubble of laughter at his pink-tinged skin or his sweat soaked hairline. 

First he just stared at her flatly, waiting for her to stop, but when she couldn’t he turned away, a laugh of his own slipping out. 

“Here,” she’d told him. “I’ve got an easier recipe you can try. And don’t put the stove on 8 next time, it never needs to be that high unless you’re boiling water.”

She pulled up a recipe on her phone--one that Wells had taught her when she was going through her Master Chef phase and wanted to learn to cook for herself--and sent it to his phone. She watched as he printed it out, crumpling up and tossing away the old recipe he was using, before thanking her, telling her to get out of there. 

“I don’t want to have to listen to Reyes complain about you being late,” he said, shoving her shoulder. She hesitated but he rolled his eyes. “If Wells trusted  _ you _ to make it, I think I’ll be fine.”

She hadn’t realized she had a goofy smile on her face until she sat back down in front of Raven, plopping her sandwich and tea on the table in front of her. 

“What’s with your face?” Raven asked. 

“What?” Clarke said. “Nothing.”

Raven just stared at her. 

“My face is normal.”

“Your face is not normal.” Raven insisted. 

“Why do I even hang out with you?”

Raven shrugged, letting it drop. But she kept eyeing her curiously as she picked at her sandwich, like there was something going on that Clarke wasn’t telling her. Which was ridiculous. Clarke’s life had been the same for months. Nothing new had happened so she wouldn’t have anything  _ to _ tell. 

It was nice, hanging out with Raven like that, though. She hadn’t seen her in a while, and they really hadn’t hung out one on one in weeks. Possibly a month. 

Ever since Clarke moved into the house people started dropping by again. First, she suspected to see how much of a trainwreck it was all turning out to be. Then probably to see how long until it really turned into a trainwreck, since they hadn’t gotten a show when they expected it. But then it really just started feeling like the old house again. Monroe even brought by some of her old posters and hung them up in the living room again. Miller was there constantly already, since he was Bellamy’s best friend, which meant Monty was there a lot too. Wells came by to cook them dinner once a week because individually he had little confidence in their ability to feed themselves so together, he said, they would just enable each other to eat cereal for every meal. 

It was almost like the old days. Almost. 

But she missed seeing Raven, who hadn’t been by in a couple of weeks. And she was happy they were finally able to find a time to get together. Even if Raven was going to be weird and judgey the whole time. 

“How’s the job search coming?” Raven asked. 

Clarke winced a little bit, looking sheepish. 

“Well,” she said. “It’s kind of...not.”

Raven just raised her eyebrows at that. 

“I just,” Clarke tried to explain. “I don’t really know what I want to do? I mean I went the first two years of college kind of bopping around, taking random classes, filling gen ed requirements. Then when I was done with that, I just sort of. Picked a major. Because I had to. I don’t actually know if it’s what I want to do.”

She took a bite, chewing slowly before she carried on. 

“I actually really like bartending,” she said. “It’s not a ton of money, but I get good tips, and I like everyone I work with. I get to see my friends whenever they stop in. And it’s a nice bar, hardly any skeevy types.”

“You haven’t sent your resume out anywhere?” Raven asked.

“I mean, I did,” Clarke said. “At the end of the semester. To a few places my professors suggested. And then my mom apparently gave my resume to someone she works with.”

Raven grimaced at that. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed. “Apparently they’re going to call to set up an interview soon.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“No,” Clarke shook her head. “That’s probably stupid of me, but no. It would pay better than my job right now, but I actually  _ like _ my job right now. And I don’t want to have to move to Michigan. I don’t want to have to move at all.”

“Especially if it’s back in with your mom,” Raven teased. 

“Exactly.”

She tried not to think about that particular conversation she was going to have to have with her mom. She’d just passed along her number, figuring she’d turn down the opportunity when it came. Because she was going to turn it down. She’d never wanted to move back in with her mom, but now.

Now it was just an impossibility. She couldn’t leave the house. She finally felt at home, and things were good and she was  _ happy _ . And she wasn’t going to leave. 

Her phone buzzed on the table and she bit her lip to hide her smile as she glanced down. 

**_Bellamy: Octavia’s yelling at me for having her over on a day you have plans. When exactly are you coming home?_ **

“How’s all that going?” Raven nodded to her phone. 

**_Clarke: Should be home in a couple hours. Make her stay, I haven’t seen her since graduation._ **

“All what?” Clarke asked distracted. 

Raven snorted. 

“ _ All what _ , she asks. Living with Bellamy.”

“Oh,” Clarke said, glancing up from her phone. “It’s fine. Good actually. We’ve gotten into a rhythm again.”

**_Bellamy: She’s betting me five bucks that you’d say she’s a better roommate than I am. Prove her wrong and I’ll split the winnings._ **

“Oh have you?”

“Not like that, Raven,” Clarke said. She rolled her eyes. “We’re friends again. It’s nice.”

“Clarke.” Raven was staring at her. “You and Bellamy were never friends.”

“Come on,” Clarke said. “Yes we were.”

“Whatever you say,” Raven mumbled, clearly not believing her. 

**_Clarke: Wow, I might be able to buy a whole pack of gum with those winnings. How generous of you._ **

**_Bellamy: Thank god. Your breath stinks._ **

**_Clarke: You have always been my least favorite Blake._ **

**_Bellamy: Not sure that’s quite true._ **

“I do miss the house,” Raven said, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“You should come over more,” Clarke said. “One of us is usually home. Or if not, the key’s in the same place it’s always been.”

“You guys seriously should put that key somewhere else, you’re gonna get robbed.”

**_Clarke: Raven says hi. In her way._ **

**_Bellamy: Tell Raven she’s dead to me. The last time she was here she stole all our chocolate chips. I haven’t been able to have pancakes in a month._ **

**_Clarke: Just buy more chocolate chips???_ **

Clarke looked up at Raven, who was glancing around the cafe, sipping from Clarke’s iced tea. 

“We should have a party there,” Clarke said. Raven looked up at her. “We never had a housewarming party when I moved in, not really. We should get everyone together again.”

“Yeah, sure,” Raven said. “I’d like to see that disaster in person. Count me in.”

***

Octavia, despite Clarke’s protests, could only stay an hour after Clarke got home from lunch with Raven.

“Ugh, rude,” she said, as she made to hug her goodbye. 

“I know, it’s almost as if she has a life or something?” Bellamy said. Octavia just stuck her tongue out at the both of them. 

“This is your fault,” she said to them. “Plan better next time.”

She’d gone and Clarke helped Bellamy clean up the kitchen, teasing him with how impressed she was that there were no more burned pans with chicken crusted into them. 

Maybe it was weird, she thought as they both curled up on the couch after everything was cleaned up. That it all became so natural again so quickly. That just a month after rekindling their old, lost friendship, they could sit like that overlapping each other on the couch like nothing ever happened. Like there wasn’t a giant band aid, strapping the two of them together after years of being broken apart. 

She felt his hand play with her hair and she leaned back into him, his fingers occasionally brushing her neck. She could feel him twisting the strands together in a loose braid at the base of her neck. She smiled as she clicked the next episode.

It always helped him relax, playing with her hair. Well not her hair specifically. He could do Raven’s and Octavia’s and Monroes and Harper’s and for years they’d all be walking around sporting crazy braids because they were too lazy or too reluctant to ever unravel what he’d made them into. 

She was shocked the first time he asked to do it again after she’d moved in. Now it was like second nature, feeling his hands move softly against her head. 

“Raven wants to have a party,” she said as she felt him wrap a hair tie around the end of the braid. She turned back to face him. “Get everyone back together since it’s not just you living her anymore.”

“Okay,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “That sounds nice, actually.”

“Okay,” she said. 

“Okay.”

***

“We probably just should have had Wells come over early and cook,” Clarke said, staring down at the pan. “I’m like ninety five percent sure chicken is never supposed to be this color.”

Bellamy peeked over her shoulder and wrinkled his nose. 

“Yeah,” he said backing away. “Just toss that.”

“Okay,” she said pulling it off the stove. “But I think that narrows our food choices down to m&ms and tequila.”

“I ordered a pizza,” Bellamy called from the living room. 

Clarke clicked the stove off and wandered over to the living room. She waited until he glanced back over at her to cross her arms and lean against the doorway. 

“Are you saying you didn’t have faith in my cooking skills?” she accused. 

“You say that like it’s completely out of line and yet…” He raised his eyebrow meaningfully, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Whatever,” she said, turning back to clean up the kitchen. “You’re paying for it though.”

“No I’m not.” She could hear the smirk even with her back to him. “It’s from your old pizza shop, Maya’s delivering it.”

“Taking advantage of Maya’s crush on you. Despicable.”

“She’s giving it to us for free because I told her it was your party,” Bellamy said. “But, now that I know she has a crush on me…”

“Oh stop,” Clarke said. Bellamy was behind her then. She hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen, but he was plucking the sponge out of her hand and tossing it into the sink beside them. “Don’t act like you don’t about the effect all this,” she gestured to his general form, “has on people.”

His smile grew at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight.

“What affect does it have on people?” 

He was closer to her then and Clarke felt like she was eighteen again when a giggle spilled from her lips. She remembered glitter splashed across his cheeks the first time he made a laugh like that tumble out from her and her breath caught at the memory. 

It would be so easy. So easy, she thought. To step into him. He’d wrap his hand around her, resting at the small of her back so he could pull her in, lift her up as her body pressed against his so he didn’t have to double over when he bent down to kiss her. She knew exactly how it would feel. She knew exactly what he’d feel like, what he’d taste like, what he’d smell like. And suddenly she couldn’t remember exactly what had stopped it all. 

Her lungs felt small. Like the air in the room was too cold, and too hard and it was pushing up against her from every angle. 

It would be so, so easy. 

*** 

**March 2013**

She glanced up at the sound of the bell ringing under the door to see Monty wandering into the shop, giving a small little wave as he waited for Clarke to finish ringing out the customers she’d just served. 

“Hey, Monty,” she said. He walked up bouncing. 

“Hey, Clarke,” he said, casually. “What’s up?”

She smirked as she walked to his favorite pizza and cut him a slice, handing it over to him. She waved him off as he dug through his pocket for his wallet and he accepted the slice gratefully.

“You have any plans tonight?” he asked her. 

“You mean am I possibly hanging out with Miller tonight?” He blushed and dipped his head down, but he didn’t deny it. “Hang out here, I’m off in twenty minutes and then I’m headed over to the house. You can come with, and finally make your move on Miller.”

“Not sure that’s quite how it’s gonna go,” Monty said, laughing. “But thanks.”

They’d been dancing around each other since the night of the club, Miller and Monty. It was cute, if exhausting to watch, because it was obvious to everyone else around them that they were both into one another, and yet somehow neither of them was convinced enough to actually do anything about it. 

Monty sat at the table by the TV, casually flipping between the book he brought with him and whatever new station was playing on the TV. Clarke always tried to watch in her down time, but it was too loud behind the counter to actually hear what the news casters were saying, so she’d given up a awhile back. 

It was just about closing time when the door rang again, and Clarke nearly slammed her head against the counter. 

“Hi,” she heard a familiar voice say, and she glanced up, marginally less upset when she saw the face smiling back at her. It was Niylah, a girl from her history class, staring back at her. 

“Hey,” Clarke said back. 

“I’d like to order some pizza,” she said. “Though I think that’s pretty much a given.”

Clarke laughed, brushing her hair back behind her ears. 

“A little, yeah,” she said. “What can I get for you?” 

She didn’t notice Monty come up behind Niylah as she order, or as they chatted after it. She gave Clarke the address she needed the pizzas delivered  to, and smiled at her. 

“We’re having a party,” she said in explanation for the pizzas, though, really, she didn’t need to. “You can stop by later, if you want. You probably know a bunch of the people there.”

“Oh,” Clarke said. She felt a blush trickle up her neck. “That sounds fun, but I actually have plans later. Thanks, though.”

“Sure,” Niylah nodded. “See you around, Clarke.”

“So,” Monty said, stepping up to the counter once Niylah had stepped out of the shop. His eyebrow was raised suggestively. “Who was that?”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring him, picking up her phone as it buzzed instead of answering him. 

She didn’t want to talk about Niylah with Monty. She didn’t want to talk about Niylah at all. She felt weird, a warm sort of squirming in the pit of her stomach that quickly turned cold when she thought about Bellamy. She didn’t want to get together with Niylah, she was happy the way things were with them. She just didn’t know exactly what things were with Bellamy. 

Friends, nothing more in front of everyone else. Then, when they were alone…

They weren’t dating. They were always very careful about saying that. She didn’t want to spook him, to force him into something he wasn’t ready for. But neither of them were seeing anyone else and once in a while, every now and again she felt an ache in her gut when she thought about it. The casualness of it all. They way she wanted him, the way she wanted him to want her. 

The possibility that he’d never entertained the same sorts of thoughts. 

**_Bellamy: You’re still coming over tonight, right? Want a ride after work?_ **

**_Clarke: I get off in ten, I’ll be there soon. Monty’s driving me. Hoping tonight’s the night they finally pull their heads out of their asses._ **

**_Bellamy: Wouldn’t that be nice._ **

**_Bellamy: See you soon._ **

***

He greeted her with a hug as soon as she walked through the door, pulling her in close, a warm kiss dropped where her shoulder met her neck. 

“Hey,” he murmured into her skin. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“You alright?” he asked, pulling back to look at her. His eyebrows were pulled into one another as he stared at her. 

“Yeah,” she said, dropping her head down onto his shoulder. “Just tired from work.”

“Oh,” he said. He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Well brace yourself then, Raven and Octavia are on an entirely new level tonight. They’re planning a party.”

“A party?”

Bellamy nodded solemnly. 

“Wells is a sixteenth Irish, apparently. They want to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.”

It made perfect sense. Obviously. 

Clarke shrugged, laughing as they made their way into the kitchen. She braced herself for the whirlwind that was about to be Raven and Octavia, but they hardly glanced over when she and Bellamy settled into the room. They were talking, loudly--and getting louder--over one another, trying to plan whatever party it was they wanted to have. Monty was pinned in the corner, a desperate look on his face as he glanced helplessly before the storm by the counter and Miller in the doorway. Octavia was pointing at him, waving her arm wildly, so hard that Monty actually had to duck at one point. 

“They had moved on to guest list when you two got here,” Bellamy muttered to her. “Though now they just might be planning on using Monty in some sort of ritual sacrifice.”

“Do we know anyone who isn’t currently in this kitchen?” Clarke asked. “Who else are we going to invite?”

Bellamy chuckled at that and Clarke noticed, for the first time, that he hadn’t quite let go of her since she’d walked through the door. 

It wasn’t like Bellamy was cold, or anything. He wasn’t unaffectionate. She never felt scared to reach out and touch him or be close to him, or anything like that. She wanted to do it far more often than she probably should have, given their arrangement--if a refusal to talk about what they were could be counted as an arrangement--but she never felt like she couldn’t. 

But he also hardly ever like that. Not so touchy, not until they were alone. 

“Clarke could invite Niylah,” Monty teased, jerking her from her thoughts. 

She felt her eyes widen and her cheeks redden. She looked ahead, avoiding meeting Bellamy’s eye and whatever was held there. 

“Who’s Niylah?” Bellamy asked. 

“Oh,” she said. She looked over at him to see him watching her, curiously. There was something else in his eyes, something she couldn’t read. “No one. Someone from one of my classes.”

“Oh,” Bellamy looked away from her. “Okay.”

***

He was a step away the rest of the night. Close, just a breath and a smile and he’d be back, a hand pressing into her side or her back. 

But none of the closeness from earlier. 

She couldn’t read him, couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head. 

Monty paused beside the couch as he passed. 

“It’s getting late, I’m heading out,” he told her. She glanced over to the kitchen where Miller was saying goodnight to everyone, making his way out toward Monty. 

“Oh, are you?” she said. She wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Shut up,” Monty said. “Go make googly eyes at Bellamy or whatever else it is you do here.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but he pushed at her hair before pulling his shoes on and giving her a final wave before slipping out of the front door with Miller. She yawned, stretching her arms out over her head, and then she dragged herself off of the couch and back into the kitchen. 

Bellamy smiled at her when she walked in. His bare feet were crossed at the ankles as he leaned against the kitchen counter in just a pair of thin, shaggy pajama pants. His sipped the last of the water from his glass and put it in the sink behind him. 

“You look tired,” he said. 

“Spiritually I’m already asleep,” she said. “My body just hasn’t caught up yet.”

He laughed. “C’mon,” he said pushing her toward the basement. “Before you collapse.” 

She made her way sleepily to the basement, Bellamy a few paces behind her. Her hand was on the doorknob to the basement when she heard his sleepy mumble to Octavia. 

“Invite Gina too,” he said, softly. She turned back to the door before he could shift and see her watching him. “To the party.” 

***

She hadn’t thought about it again until the party. The murmured words he hadn’t meant for her to hear. 

She hadn’t thought about it again until Gina walked through the door, looping an arm around his shoulders for a half hearted hug, before handing Raven a six pack she’d brought in from her car. 

“Hey Clarke,” she said, smiling when she ran into her in the kitchen. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said. “You too.”

It was. Probably. She couldn't figure it out. It wasn’t Gina causing the heaviness in her stomach. She liked Gina, she’d always liked Gina. Gina was nice. 

And yet, when she walked into the room, there it was. 

Gina was giving her a funny look and a wave of guilt washed over Clarke. 

“How’ve you been?” she asked her quickly. “Is your boyfriend here?”

Gina blushed and ducked her head. 

“No,” she said. She glanced around, avoiding Clarke’s eye. “No that didn’t work out actually.”

Clarke opened her mouth to apologize, or--something, she wasn’t sure what but Gina waved her off with a hand and a smile. She grabbed a beer from the pack and held one out to Clarke with raised eyebrows. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Gina said. “Wasn’t meant to be. Let’s just have a good time tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clarke nodded. “Sounds good.”

And she tried, she did. She wanted to have a good time. She sat between Raven and Wells as they argued about french toast or something else that, really, did not need to be argued over. She drank with Monroe and Harper and Octavia, playing games, and she tried, she really tried, to have a good time. 

But her mind kept slipping back to it. And her eyes kept slipping back over to them. Bellamy smiling and waving her over every time he caught her glancing over at them--he and Gina, talking, laughing, joking. And it felt strangely like a jolting reminder that even if she belonged there, with those people, even if it was her home and her family, she was still the odd one out. The new one. 

That there was history behind them all that she was never going to be a part of. 

“Hey, Clarke,” Monty nodded toward the door. “Your friend’s here.”

Clarke sat up, looking at the door to see Niylah waving, yet another pack of beer in her hands. 

She walked over, plucking it out of her hand. 

“We’re going to have enough beer for the rest of the semester by the end of tonight.”

“Seemed the safest thing to bring to a party full of strangers,” Naylah said, an easy smile on her lips. 

“Fair enough.”

Clarke plopped it down on the table next to them, nodding toward the rest of the party.

“Come on,” she said. She grabbed Niylah by the elbow and dragged her through the living room. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

She glanced up to find Bellamy staring at her, eyes flat, but flashing  between the two of them. His brows were pulled in together, a thick crease above his nose. By the time she’d gotten through everyone’s names and back to him, he and Gina had disappeared from the corner.

*** 

“So,” Bellamy sidled up next to her as she helped pick up empty bowls and bottles from around the living rooms after everyone had left. “You were quite the smooth talker tonight.”

There was an edge to his voice that she couldn’t figure out. 

“What?” she asked. Her head felt like it was spinning and she wanted the whole weird night to be over. She just wanted to sleep. She wanted to crawl into one of his oversized shirts and pull his arms around her and fall asleep with the smell of him surrounding her. 

But he was staring at her in a way that made her stomach drop to her knees, a way that made the air cool all around them, and for the first time since she stepped foot in the house in August, she thought maybe it would all be better if she just left. 

“With Niylah,” he said. “The girl was practically swooning when she left.”

“What?”

She was a broken record apparently. 

“Yeah, no you were…” he trailed off, not quite knowing exactly what he was saying. “You’ve come a long way.”

“What am I being graded or something?”

She had no idea what was going on. She couldn’t keep track of what was happening and it was all happening so fast. 

“Well after tonight, you probably don’t even need me anymore.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” 

“Niylah,” he said. “You’re obviously into her, and she’s obviously into you, so you should go for it.”

She stopped, nearly dropping the bottles in her hand. 

“You realize we’re sleeping together, right? Like I haven’t hallucinated all of this?”

“It’d be okay,” he said, gruff. “We never said we were exclusive or anything.”

“Gina’s single again,” she responded, rounding on him. “You knew that when you invited her right?”

Bellamy ducked his head, avoiding her eye. Not answering her question. 

A wall of nausea hit her and she dumped the garbage into the nearest bag, steadying herself on the counter. Her knuckles went white with her grip. 

“I think,” she said softly. “I think the end of the semester is coming at a good time.”

Bellamy was finally looking at her again. Brown eyes boring into hers when she finally turned back around and she could have sworn she saw his hand reach out for her, twitch at his sides at the very least. She let out a stuttering breath. 

“So, uh.” She hated how her voice was croaking. But she wasn’t going to play whatever game this was anymore. “Thanks for all your...help this semester, but I’ve got it from here.”

“Clarke--”

“I don’t think we should sleep together anymore,” she said plainly. “I’ll stay on the couch tonight.”

He sighed, his head dropping to his chest. He didn’t say anything as he nodded, backing away from her and walking down to his bed in the basement. 

She waited for the door to the basement to click tight behind him. 

*** 

**July 2016**

Clarke stepped back, tripping over the chair behind her. 

“They’re, uh--” she stumbled over her words. “I thought I heard someone at the door.”

It was a bad idea. A terrible idea. An idea she’d already tried and it hadn’t worked out three years ago, so there was no reason it would work out just then. 

“Since when has anyone knocked here?”

She shook her head, a small, forced smile folding into her cheeks. But she backed away anyway, walking into the living room for some air. Leaning against the wall to get a breath before anyone got there. 

***

The room was full and she was squashed on the couch, a warm slice of pizza in her hand, Wells on one side, Harper on the other.

Bellamy across the room, avoiding her eye. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**July 2016**

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it--what exactly had changed after the party. But it was different, it was all different. A sour cocktail of the way things were when she first moved in and how they’d been just moments before the party. 

For the most part, Bellamy avoided her. She’d hear him shuffle into the basement as she padded her way into the kitchen. Or he’d wait to leave for work until he knew she wasn’t hanging by the door. It felt like she saw less of him than she ever had, especially considering they were in closer proximity than ever before. He didn’t text her about chocolate chips or what movie he was debating buying at the supermarket anymore. He didn’t call her to see if she could remember the name of the actor Miller had a crush on her freshman year, or to see if she was nearby and wanted to grab lunch. 

It was all roommate stuff. Asking her to get toilet cleaner when she went out shopping. Letting her know he’d be home late, so she should lock up before she went to bed. Thoughtful and polite, but strictly roommate business. 

When he did see her, she still felt like she was missing him. He always put on a smile she didn’t recognize, soft and embarassed and impatient. 

He’d say “excuse me” when he passed her in the kitchen, his hand instinctively reaching for her back to brush past her, but stopping before he actually touched her. He’d smile politely at her if they crossed each other in a doorway before he’d duck his head and move aside. 

It was almost worse than the anger from before, she thought. 

It was driving her crazy, so she’d started painting again. Turning half of her bedroom into a studio, with tarps spread across the carpet and easels set up along the wall, she’d thought that maybe it would help her. It had been so long since she’d painted anything, even a wall or a cabinet, that the brush felt nearly foreign in her hands, like a pencil she didn’t quite know how to write with. 

It was frustrating. Not quite as frustrating as everything with Bellamy, though, so she kept at it. So she was surrounded by ugly, mismatched, half finished paintings every time she went back up to her room. 

It wasn’t actually making her feel better though, she realized. She stared at the horrible mess of colors piled against her walls, one on top of another, stacked away every time she couldn’t bring herself to finish one. 

She saw bits of Bellamy’s face sticking out from a few. A crooked chin, a misshapen eyebrow, a lopsided ear. 

She heard Bellamy move around downstairs in the kitchen, the faucet running as he filled the kettle, the clang of it hitting the stove top. She pictured him leaning against the counter, a loose tank top brushing his abdomen as he waited for the water to boil. 

She looked back up where a misshapen attempt at his face stared back at her. 

Not even close, she thought. 

Maybe if she hadn’t stopped painting the same day she walked out of Bellamy’s house after sleeping on the couch for the first time she would have gotten a little better. Good enough to get his nose right. Or the shape of his eyebrow. Instead she was staring at a painting she recognized even less than the man it was based on. 

She picked up her mug of dirty paint water and hurled it at the canvas. 

***

**February 2013**

Clarke wanted to fall back onto a pile of pillows and never move again. 

She’d worked a ten hour shift at the pizza shop right after staying up all night to study for an exam and was supposed to go back into work again at ten the next morning. 

“Call in sick tomorrow,” Bellamy said from behind her. His nose bumped into her shoulder, a chill running down her spine at the contact. “You’re going to be dead on your feet anyway, you’re not going to be any use to them.”

“Hmm,” she sighed. “Maybe.”

He leaned away from her, reaching down to the floor beside the mattress, grabbing at something. When she looked over at him he was typing something out on her phone. 

“Hey,” she said, her arm shooting out for it. “What are you doing?”

He smiled over at her, waggling her phone between his fingers. 

“Maya said she’d be happy to cover your shift,” he said. 

She grabbed her phone back, scrunching her nose up at him. She couldn’t bring herself to be mad at him for it--she was beat. She thought she’d probably sleep straight through the afternoon tomorrow. If everyone in the house didn’t wake her up first.

“Come on,” he said, sliding back down onto his own pillows. He butted his head against her shoulder. “Time to turn your brain off.” 

She flopped back, colliding her shoulder blade with his head as she collapsed on top of him. Too lazy to move she waited until he shoved her off, rearranging them until he was more comfortable around her. She wiggled her toes, stretching for what felt like the first time in years, a soft moan escaping her as her muscles released the tension they’d been holding. 

“It’s too early in the semester for you to be this stressed,” Bellamy mumbled. 

She felt him moving behind her, sitting up, knocking into her uncomfortably. 

“What are you--” she started, but cut herself off when she felt him prop her up against his chest as his hands snaked over her shoulders, kneading the tight muscles at the top of her back. 

She let her head drop back against him, his hands feeling warm and soft against her skin. 

“So,” he said after a few minutes. “Second semester going any better than the last?”

Clarke chewed her bottom lip.  _ Slightly _ , she wanted to say at the feel of his fingers pressing into her skin. 

“Classes are still terrible, honestly,” she said. “But it is a little better.”

Bellamy chuckled, his chest shaking against her. 

“Just a little?”

It still wasn’t great. She loved her friends, she loved being in the house, staying with Bellamy, waking up to Wells’ pancakes and Raven’s coffee. It was just the actual school part that wasn’t what she wanted. Everyone seemed to know what they wanted, what they liked. She thought all freshman went in confused and stressed but when she glanced around her classes all she saw were people who knew what they were doing. 

“I do wish I got to paint a little more,” she said, immediately embarrassed by the thought. “I’m mean--I’m not any good. But I like it.”

Hang on,” Bellamy said. “I have an idea.”

She felt him pull back, and the dip of the mattress and he pushed off from his knee. He crossed the room in a few strides, while Clarke watched, vision hazy from sleep, as he rummaged through his closet. 

An old pack of crayola watercolor paints landed on the mattress in front of her a moment later. 

“Octavia went through a phase when she was younger,” he shrugged when she glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You guys really never throw anything away.”

He was stripping his shirt off and leaning down to grab the water bottle on the chair next to his side of the bed. Unscrewing the cap he handed it over to Clarke and then plopped down in front of her. 

“Go on,” he said. “Paint.” 

“Your skin?” 

“Yeah,” he said. He looked a little embarassed. Like he’d been hoping she’d be more excited about it. “I mean, I’ve got a tattoo. You can fill it in or...whatever. Paint whatever you want.” 

She felt the brush swirl around in the water bottle gripped between her fingers. 

“Alright,” she said, the brush already making its way to his skin, pressing in and moving around. 

It was a few minutes before he spoke again, sitting comfortably in the silence as she pressed herself and the colors further into his skin. There was a pleasant buzzing behind her eyes, the sleep trying to take her over while she willed herself to stay awake with him. 

“So,” he said. His voice was quiet and gravely and all she could think of was how many hours it had been since she had slept. Her cheeks were hot and she felt the urge to lean forward and press her face against the cool skin of his back. 

He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his voice was quieter, more fragile. 

“Anything from the semester you think you want more from?”

Her eyelids were drooping, and she wanted to shake herself awake, sure that there was some other question layered in the one he was asking but she couldn’t piece it together. 

“No,” she murmured, finally letting her forehead fall against his skin. “I don’t know.”

*** 

**July 2016**

She pulled her phone out of her pocket instead of dealing with the broken mug on the ground. 

**_Want to get super drunk tonight??_ ** She texted Murphy. 

She needed a wingman who made worse decisions than she did. She wasn’t in the mood for Monty’s sympathy or Raven’s concerned judgement. 

Only a minute passed before her phone buzzed. 

**_I’m already at the Dropship. First drinks on me._ **

\--

“And I’m not going to talk about it,” Clarke said. “I’m not.” 

Her drink was almost empty so she downed the remaining sip before slamming it down on the counter and waving the waitress back over to their table. 

“It’s just ridiculous,” she carried on. “That after all this time he does--whatever he does, and still thinks it was all my fault? And now he’s ignoring me? For opening the door to get the pizza?”

“None of what you’re saying makes sense,” Murphy said. 

“What I’m saying,” Clarke rolled her eyes. “Is that it’s Bellamy’s fault and he’s trying to make it seem like it’s not. And I’m not going to take credit for something I didn’t do.”

“Good for you.” Murphy clinked his glass against her empty one. 

She drank the glass of water Murphy pushed toward her while she waited for him to catch up. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, but she ignored it, glancing around the bar instead. It had been buzzing every few minutes for the past half an hour, and she didn’t have to take it out to figure out who it was. 

Murphy, as it turned out, was not entirely interested in her tales of woe from the house. Having found them entirely too predictable, he rolled his eyes every time she brought them up. And made sure to point out every time she said  _ “And I’m not going to talk about it” _ that she’d been talking about absolutely nothing else the entire night. 

He did seem to feel bad for her, for what it was worth. She wasn’t sure that pity and indifference was any better than just plain indifference. She wasn’t even sure if she preferred it.  But she’d asked him to drink with her, she shouldn’t really have expected anything else. 

“Hey.” Murphy nodded toward the far side of the bar. “Isn’t that the girl from the St Patrick’s Day party?”

Clarke twisted around to see where he was nodding. 

Pulling her drink off the counter, Niylah waded through the crowd, searching for a free spot or her friends, Clarke wasn’t sure. But she raised her arm and waved her over anyway. 

“What are you doing?” Murphy asked, sounding doubtful. 

Clarke just shrugged. “For old times sake.”

Murphy shook his head. “This,” he said, watching Niylah cock an eyebrow and make her way over to them, curious. “Is a bad idea.”

Clarke swiped his drink from him and tipped back the last of it. “If you hadn’t noticed,” she said, wiping an arm across her top lip. “That’s kind of my thing lately.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having some serious trouble with this fic--and with writing bellarke fic in general lately--so that's why this chapter is so short and took me so long to get out. Hopefully the next one will be longer and quicker to update!


	8. Chapter 8

**_December 2012_ **

Bellamy tossed the towel down on the counter, the last dish cleaned and wiped dry. Then he turned to Clarke, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So,” he said. “Semesters practically over. Any headway on figuring out what you want?”

He kept his voice steady, careful not give anything away if she wanted to look past it. But her shirt--his shirt--was bunched up at the back as she leaned against the counter, showing off a strip of skin above her hips and he remembered his hands resting there only the night before. As she swayed and bounced in front of him at the club, swiping some glitter from his cheeks to put on her own. 

It didn’t have to mean anything if she didn’t want it to. But maybe, if she did--

“Actually,” she said, stepping forward. “Yes.”

She pushed herself up on her toes, her hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him in closer as her lips brushed against his, hesitant. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” she promised against his lips. 

It almost had him pulling back, but he waited, still pressed against her. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been looking for, not quite what he’d wanted them to be. 

But it was better than nothing. 

It was a moment before he let himself respond, but then he moaned, his arms wrapping around her waist, tightly, keeping her there against him. He felt as she smiled into it and let her hands roam up from the collar of his shirt to his neck, then threading her fingers into his hair.

It felt like barely a moment before he broke apart and she looked up at him, questioning. His grip on her only tightened, and he nodded toward the basement. He wondered what came next, what she wanted from him now.  He felt her fingers spread over his cheeks, smoothing down the lines at the corner of his eyes, before she dropped her hand down to his.

Then she gave his arm a tug, walking toward the basement door, laughing at the smile on his face.

She wasn’t watching where she was walking and he had to reach his arm out to steady her as she nearly tripped down the stairs. But she tumbled into him and he felt her laugh press against his shoulder and before he knew it they were stumbling across the room, calves knocking into the mattress when they came up next to it. 

“Woah,” he said. Her hands were shoving their way up under his shirt, rushing to push it off. He rested his hands over hers, bringing them back down before he brushed his own against her hair, shoving it out of her face. 

“We don’t have to do everything tonight,” he said. He didn’t know how experienced she was. She never mentioned anyone, not even any exes. He didn’t want her to think it was all he was expecting, or that he was expecting something right away. 

“Not everything,” she smirked. “But we can get a head start.”

She slipped her hands into his front pockets, fingers curling in as she dragged him closer, ever closer to her until his front was pressed fully against hers. She was soft and warm, her face flushed her shirt-- _ his _ shirt--was still dirty, covered in cheese and flour from her day at work. She smelled like dough and sweat and his head dipped instinctively, trying to catch it all. 

He stepped back and peeled his shirt off over his head, watching as her eyes followed the movement. Her hands reached out as she watched him, stroking his chest, the pads of her fingers making their way down from his collarbone to his abdomen. 

“Your turn,” he teased. 

She didn’t hesitate, stepping away and pulling her shirt off without preamble, making quick work of pushing her pants down to her ankles before she stepped out of them and then moved back toward him. Her hands reached him first, tinkering with his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it off. It got stuck in one of the loops and she tripped forward, tugging too hard on it, but fell laughing against his chest. 

“You could give me a hand, you know,” she said, reaching around to force it through. 

“No,” he shook his head. “I think I’m okay with the situation how it is.”

When she did get the belt off his jeans down, she rubbed her right hand against the soft cotton of his underwear, feeling his response beneath the pads of her fingers and he had to stifle a groan.

She was slow, hesitating more than before, but not entirely unsure of herself. More like she was waiting for him to say something, to respond some how. So he pressed forward, her arm trapped between the two of them and dipped his lips down to her neck, feeling her head tip up to open herself up for him. 

His hands were around her, lifting her up under her thighs before she had a chance to readjust and he tipped them back onto the mattress. 

“Let me know if you want me to stop,” he said.  Her hair was splayed out around her head, sticking in every direction. Her cheeks were already flushed and he pressed down automatically, feeling the blush under his lips before he heard her response. 

“Don’t you dare,” she said. 

*** 

She reached for her shirt after, like she was ready to pull it on and walk back upstairs. Like he was going to kick her out as soon as they were done. 

He followed her as she sat up, his lips dropping to her shoulder, down her arm, her back. When she moved to stand up and grab for more clothes he looped his arm around her stomach and pulled her back into him. 

“Where the hell are you going, Griffin?”

She was warm and soft against him, and he spread his fingers out, reaching every part of her belly and her side that he could. 

“I just figured…” she trailed off, twisting her neck to look back at him. She laughed when she saw him, her eyes trailing over his warm cheeks and messy hair and lips he was sure were rubbed red. “I have no idea what I figured.”

He pressed his nose between her shoulder and her neck, waiting for her to relax back into him. When he felt her unwind, and melt back into him he parted his lips, his tongue flicking out on her skin for a brief second, tasting, before he blew a raspberry onto her shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Bellamy.” She swatted at his shoulder, pulling away playfully until he schooled his face into something more serious. 

“No come on,” he said. He reached out and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“Mmkay,” she said. Her body slid forward and she felt her fingers trail playfully up and down his spine. 

“I’m a major cuddler,” he said. He watched as the corner of her eyes scrunched up as she smiled. He felt his stomach flip and he pulled her closer. “Really. I love to cuddle. It’s basically my favorite thing.”

“Oh, well,” she said. Her head was plopped onto his chest, her hair itching his skin, but it felt good. “If it’s your favorite thing.”

They stayed like that, in silence for a few moments. He could feel her chest rise and fall against him with every breath, and he felt warmth pool in his belly and trickle down to his toes. 

“So,” he said after a minute. “What’s the verdict? Did I blow your mind?”

Her laugh tumbled out into his shoulder. 

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Totally ruined me for all other men. Luckily I still have women to choose from.”

***

**_July 2016_ **

Clarke rolled over, her nose pressing into stiff, unfamiliar bed sheets. They smelled of sweat and cheap floral laundry detergent. She felt hot and stiff, like she’d slept with too many blankets in a room without air conditioning. She looked down and realized she was still fully dressed, in the clothes she’d worn from the night before, but the bed was unfamiliar. 

A soft banging was coming from outside the bedroom, the noise muddled through the walls. But the air smelled like bacon and she thought she heard the beeping of a coffee maker done brewing so she peeled herself off the bed, noticing the sheets piled up at the end of the mattress in what looked like a knot. She could imagine herself kicking them off haphazardly as she slept, too warm from the weight of the sheets and the press of her jeans into her thighs. 

She wished she’d had a mind to take her bra off last night, but she was sweaty and sore just under her boobs, and she couldn’t wait to take a shower. 

When she made her way to the kitchen, a familiar form stood above the stove, poking at some scrambled eggs. 

Niylah. 

The memories from the night before flooded back into her brain and she winced, trying to imagine what sort of fool she made of herself. 

“Morning,” Niylah said, turning around to smile at her. “Coffee’s ready if you want some. I’ve got bacon made and I’m just finishing up the eggs if you want to wait a few minutes for food. Help fight off the hangover and all that.”

She was about to turn her down, sat she was feeling too sick to eat or that she wasn’t hungry or that she had to go, but her stomach growled before she could come up with anything, so she shrugged and grabbed a mug from the table, filling it with coffee before sitting down to wait for the food. 

She noticed a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin already at the table when she sat down. 

“In case eggs and bacon weren’t enough,” Niylah teased her. Clarke rolled her eyes, but uncapped the bottle and dropped two out, grateful for Niylah’s thoughtfulness. 

“So, I’m still in my jeans,” Clarke said. Her voice was rough and cracking. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Does that mean we didn’t--”

“No way,” Niylah cut her off, shaking her head. “You were way too fucked up by the time we got back here. Just figured I’d let you crash for the night.”

Clarke nodded, sipping at her coffee. 

“Plus,” Niylah continued after a second’s hesitation. “You’re obviously in love with Bellamy and I’m not in the habit of making the same mistake twice.”

Clarke choked on her coffee. 

“I am not in love with Bellamy,” she said, but it tasted like a lie. She thought about the ache in her stomach when she watched him carefully avoid her at the house, the gnawing she felt in her gut when she had learned he was going to sell it, the house where she met him and became friends with him and--

She thought about the desperation she felt when she told him not to sell it, that she’d move in and together they could afford it and it would be okay. 

Niylah was watching her with one eyebrow raised.

“I’m not,” she said again, softer, but she wasn’t sure there was much of a point anymore. 

Niylah shrugged. She dropped the eggs down on to Clarke’s plate, and shoved her phone down in front of her. “Check your messages.”

Clarke unlocked her phone to see nearly a dozen missed calls from Bellamy and a string of texts asking where she was. Some time stamped from nearly three in the morning. She looked at the most recent one.

**_Bellamy [2:49am]: I’m seriously worried now, are you okay? Are you coming home?_ **

She felt a stone drop in the pit of her stomach and guilt washed over her. She hadn’t even left a note to say she was going out with Murphy. She always left a note. Even the first days when they weren’t really speakig to each other, they had schedules pinned to the door of the fridge so they could know where they were whenever they weren’t home. Or at least who they were with. 

She clicked on the latest voicemail. 

“Clarke.” It was Murphy’s voice on the message. “It’s three in the morning and I just got a call from a panicked Bellamy asking where you were. You’re being a real dick about this and the two of you need to sort your shit out like, right now. Let the rest of us sleep in peace.” 

She sighed, dropping her phone back down to the table. She didn’t want to listen to Bellamy’s voicemails in front of Niylah. 

“Thanks,” she said to Niylah once she finished her food. “You didn’t have to let me crash or cook me breakfast or anything. I’m sure I was a complete mess last night so--I appreciate it.”

Niylah smiled at her. 

“No problem, Clarke,” she said. “You’re a cool person. But you have to sort out your mess with Bellamy.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah I know.”

She nodded goodbye to Niylah and pulled out her phone to shoot Bellamy a quick text. 

**_Clarke [11:52am]: Sorry. Went out last night and didn’t check my phone. Coming home now. Talk when I get back?_ **

**_Bellamy [11:54am]: Yeah. Sure._ **

***

He was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper when she got home. She set it down, his glasses slipping off the edge of his nose when she sat down across from him. He was still wearing his pajamas, a thin white t-shirt and his plaid pajama bottoms, even though it was almost twelve thirty. 

“Hi,” she said. She wasn’t sure what to say. Something had to change, she couldn’t go on like this. But she felt like if she said the wrong thing it would get even worse. 

He beat her to it. 

“You didn’t come home last night,” he said. His voice was still scratchy from sleep, like he hadn’t talked to anyone else that day until just then. “You good?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I uh, went out with Murphy. We ran into Niylah at the Dropship.”

He stood up, sliding his glasses off his face and setting them on the coffee table. His thumb and pointer finger pressed into the bridge of his nose like he had a headache he was trying to work out. 

“Out celebrating, then?”

That tripped her up. She glanced over at where he was, standing at the bookcase by the door to the kitchen and waited for him to explain. But he didn’t.

“What?”

He scoffed like he didn’t believe her. Like she was putting on an act he wasn’t buying and she felt like she was a hundred miles behind wherever the conversation had gone. He pressed play on the answering machine. 

‘I can’t believe we still have that thing,” Clarke said, shaking her head before the message started playing. “Why do we even still have a landline?”

She’d been hoping for a smile but he wasn’t even looking at her. 

“ _ Hi Clarke _ ,” the machine played. She didn’t recognize the voice. “ _ It’s your mom’s friend Callie. I’ve looked over your resume and we’d love to meet you. We think you’re a perfect fit up for what we need up here. Your mom mention something about new living arrangements since graduation, but we’d like to have you come up here for a trial period--you know see if the move is a good fit for you--before permanently relocating. Give me a call! _ ”

She feels her mouth drop open as she listens to the message, trying to figure out what to say She didn’t even want the job. She didn’t even really apply for it. She just didn’t fight with her mom when she’d asked for her resume, figuring it’d be a fight to have another day. 

Bellamy was still avoiding her eye, staring down at the machine but she could see his fists clenched tight at his sides. 

“So, congratulations,” he said. His voice was a soft whisper, and then he was out of the room, feet pounding down into the basement. 

It took her a moment but she shook herself, and sprang off the couch, following him into his room. She hadn’t been down there since the open house, and much much longer before that. It felt uncomfortable foreign, like seeing all her old favorite clothes on a room full of strangers. 

He still had one of her old, crappy paintings propped up against the wall where all his photos dangled from strings. 

He must have heard her following him, because he whipped around, his second wind all ready to go. 

“You know, if you were planning on leaving after two months you could have given me some notice.” He dragged his hands through his hair.  “I know it’s not much but it is  _ my _ house here and you’re the one who  _ insisted _ on moving in so I couldn’t sell it.”

_ Our house, _ she wanted to say.  _ It’s our house _ . She felt her face growing red as he barreled on, not letting her get a word in. 

“God i knew this was a bad idea. Letting you move in here after everything--” 

She felt something snap in her then. A white hot wave crashed over her and she felt like everything, everything she’d been thinking for three years was about to come tumbling out. 

“I’m not taking the job,” she bit out. His jaw snapped shut. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, like he was sorry, like he didn’t believe her, she wasn’t sure which. But she wasn’t going to give him a chance to explain. Not when he wouldn’t give her one. “I don’t even know what the job was, my mom just gave her my resume without asking about my plans.”

He opened his mouth again but she carried on. 

“I appreciate your concern, and your complete and utter lack of faith in me not only as a roommate but apparently as a decent person but I’m not actually moving out.”

She turned without waiting for him to answer or apologize and ran up to her room, slamming the door shut when she got there. She glared at the stupid, ugly paintings in the corner and felt a lump rise in her throat. 

***

A week had gone by since Clarke had come home from her night with Niylah and he’d yelled at her about something that wasn’t even her fault. 

He hadn’t meant to. He’d pictured the conversation entirely different in his head. He was going to play the message and ask her about the job. She what it was. Ask her to stay. 

But then she’d come home from spending the night with Niylah and he was pretty sure that even if he did ask her it wouldn’t matter and it all became too much. 

It was worse than when she had moved in. It was more like they’d travelled back in time three years to when they broke up--or whatever you can call it when two people aren’t actually together--and she was doing everything she could to avoid him. 

The air in the house was too tense. Quiet and fragile and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Clarke wouldn’t even meet his eye anymore and she always waited until he was back downstairs in his own room before she went into the living room or the kitchen. She almost never stayed anywhere in the house other than her bedroom for more than a few minutes at a time and he was going crazy. 

It took him a week of her not looking at him to figure out the ache in his chest and what was causing it, but he was lying in bed, staring at the painting he could never seem to throw away, propped up against his wall when he finally pieced it together. 

He missed her. 

He missed her looking at him, smiling at him, laughing with him. Loving him, maybe. 

His hand was on his phone, dialing her number before he could give it a second thought. 

“Bellamy?” she answered on the first ring. “Why are you calling, aren’t you home?”

“I have to get something out,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ll do it if I have to stand there and watch you avoid my eye the entire time.”

He heard her suck in a breath on the other end of the line, and he squeezed his eyes shut so he could say it. Ripping off the bandaid. 

“I miss you. More than just for the past week. I’ve missed you since that day, in march three years ago. And you’re here so I shouldn’t miss you anymore, but having you here while you refuse to look at me feels like you’re even farther away than you’ve been since you walked out of here before.”

“Bellamy--”

“Things have been completely shitty and I just really miss you.”

The line was quiet for a moment and he thought maybe she’d hung up on him, but then he heard the creaking of stairs and she was in front of him, leaning against the railing as she watched him carefully.

“I miss you too, you know,” she said. 

“No,” he shook his head. He didn’t know how to say it, but he had to make sure they were on the same page. “I really, really miss you, Clarke.”

He was perched on the end of his bed, his legs dangling off, his bare feet touching the cold floor. She was in front of him before he could question his sanity for telling her. Her feet were covered by hot pink polka dot socks and he watched as she kicked his foot playfully. 

Her hand reached down and cupped his cheek, turning his attention back to her face as she leaned down and pressed her lips into his, soft and questioning until he responded and then she abandoned whatever hesitancy she had and dropped herself down onto his lap. 

“I missed you too,” she said when they broke apart. “If that wasn’t clear.”

***

“I just want to make it clear,” Bellamy said to her later. Propping himself up on his elbow he looked down at her. His left hand stroked from her ear to her bare shoulder, back and forth, as the covers pooled around their waists. “That we’re dating this time.”

Clarke laughed beneath him. 

“Like I’m your boyfriend now, Griffin. No getting around it.” 

“Hmm I don’t know,” she teased. “I don’t know if  _ labels _ are really my thing.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said. But she grabbed at his arm and pulled him back down to her and he didn’t have it in him to fight anymore.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand we're finally done! let me know what you think and come bother me on tumblr ! (msjillianholtzmann)


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